Jennpavrific

Mooooommmm

2009-04-22T19:08:00.002-05:00

I actually can look back fondly at the days of being sick as a child. I got to sit in bed all day in warm pajamas that I can still remember feeling so soft on my skin. I would be covered in heavy blankets, watching cartoons in my parents' big bed with their big TV. My mom would make the best-tasting chicken soup with shredded pieces of chicken and delicious vegetables and soothing broth. But that was just the beginning. We had Jell-O and ice chips, juices of all kinds, toast which had the most lovely scratching sensation on your itchy throat. My dad would make this whiskey, honey, and lemon conncoction that soothed the throat and calmed a cough. There was a box of tissues at my bedside and I didn't even have to pick up after them. I didn't have to worry about what medicine to take or when. Everything was done for me. All I had to do was relax and feel better.

And isn't that all we want when we're sick? Someone to take care of us? And didn't we always seem to get better so much faster? Missing more than two days of school almost never happened. Here I am on day five of pure sickness hell and there's no sign of "better" in sight. And with Mike and I both sick at the same time, there is no one to take care of us. No delicious, healing chicken soup. Infact, for about a week we have experiemented with different soup-in-a-bag or "just add water" combinations. Unfortunately there is just no substitute for Mom's. Dad's whiskey-honey-lemon mixture has come out tasting like a gooey cocktail and there is no Jell-O. Instead of finding mom at the kitchen table when you muster the strength to get up, there is a mountain of dirty soup bowls and spoons, coffee cups, and drink glasses the likes of which you have never seen. The pile of laundry is rivaled only by the pile of snot rags which have spilled off of the nightstand and onto the floor and why two grown adults can not remember to keep medicines on a strict schedule is beyond me. Laying in bed watching cartoons may seem okay at first, but before you know it you're staring at the ceiling wishing you could just fall asleep. The temperature is never right. The heavy blankets are suffocating you and your pajamas are covered in dog hair. You can't really taste anything but you're certain that it doesn't taste good anyway and a small voice in the back of your brain whines out into the night: "Mooooooommmmm" in the "I'm gonna throw up" tone that would cause her to come running. What I wouldn't give for some of that chicken soup right now...

The Domesticated Maya

2009-02-20T16:14:00.001-06:00

Dust. Ragweed. I guess that something along those lines was the answer I expected all along. Instead, I found myself staring at a two page list of foods, plants, insects and words that even Webster’s Dictionary cowers in the face of, accompanying six tiny color coded vials. My tiny, sweet, little pug, Maya, has been suffering for nearly two years with chronic allergies affecting her skin, ears, and paws. Due to various moves and environmental changes, we have had to wait for what has seemed like an eternity to get her vaccines made so that she can start having some relief that I don’t have to wrap in a snausage for her twice a day. I was expecting something easier than giving her shots for the rest of her life. I thought they would tell us to buy a better air purifier or be more diligent about dusting… or even to closer examine our outdoor plant life. Now I found myself feeling bad for Maya yet again.
Maya is the sweetest creature on the planet. There isn’t a bad bone in her body. Her nick-name, Mia-Pia, means “My Contented One” and it couldn’t be more perfect. When things are going badly for her, all she wants is a warm lap and a nice nap. The same could be said for anyone having a rough day and there is nothing better than laying your head on the pillow and feeling her warm little face snuggle up against yours. Why this poor little thing suffers so constantly with allergies is a constant source of grief for my husband and I. My relief is that now we know what is wrong and are looking at the culprits printed up on paper. I am hoping beyond hope for a more comfortable existence for her and I can’t help but wonder what would become of her in the wild.
As it is, pugs don’t strike me as the type of dog that would ever have had any sort of survival skills. Lap dogs to the core, they were bred to adorn the thrones of Chinese royalty and they haven’t come much farther on the ol’ career path since. But weren’t all dogs “wild” in some form at one point? Poor Maya, with her allergy to chicken, turkey, and any other bird one could imagine, would probably have to develop a taste for vegetarianism. I can’t imagine my “barely as large as a shoe” dog wrestling a cow to the ground. I’m pretty certain that unless she somehow managed to lick the cow to death, a beef meal would not be so easy to come by. I can, however, imagine her using her adorable little face to coerce a lion to bring her a herd of dinner (Because in my fantasy world, lions, pugs, and cows share a habitat). If nothing else, she has a way about her that results in her getting exactly what she wants from people and pets alike. Maya has never had to fight for treats, bones, or the best spot on the fluffiest pillow. Born the only puppy to her litter, she had her little pug mama all to herself and spent her evenings nestled in the bed of the dog breeder… not something you hear of happening often. When she was placed on a dietary dog food that she detested, my other dog would actually bring her mouthfuls of his own food. Truly, no one can resist the charms of Maya.
We look at animals as if they are stupid—lower forms of life. But what do we really know, anyway. Every being on this earth is equipped with a natural instinct and a way for survivability. I just can’t imagine what Maya’s is. After all, she is allergic to a dogs easiest outdoor meal and the Planet Earth, in general. So what am I to make of this list of reactionable offenses from Bermuda grass to Palm trees, from ants to soybeans? I suppose for Maya, survival would come to her as it does to a busty blonde in need of a fancy home and small fortune supplied by a dwindling, but lucrative older man. Lucky for her she will always have someone to take care of her and love her and keep all the evil chicken away. I hope to report in the coming months that she has improved ten-fold with her new allergy injections and is a happy, healthy, itch free girl once again.

The One(s) That Got Away

2009-02-20T15:47:00.001-06:00

The One(s) That Got Away

They say it is better to have loved and lost and it is a cliché that many have pondered over the years. Recently I have been thinking of some special loves in my life that have gotten away. Remembering their loss and feeling their absence is a constant reminder of those feelings of sadness, frustration and anger. Sometimes it is more than even fond memories can tame.

1. Softlips Lemon Sorbet Chapstick.
It arrived in a welcome package from Holmes East dorms at Michigan State University in 2001. I don’t remember a single other thing that came in that gift basket. All I remember is a slim-line tube of chapstick that I swore tasted like Lemon Pledge. Despite its wood polishing aroma, I quickly grew to love this brand of lip balm. It was tingly and lemony and perfect. I must have bought a hundred tubes and of course I lost all of them. But of all the chap stick that has ever come into my life… it is the ONLY brand that I threw away at the end because I used it all before losing it. Nothing replaces that kind of sentimentality. Now, Softlips is still on the market, but they discontinued the Lemon Sorbet flavor and instead have a bunch of silly, floofy flavors like Strawberry Margarita and Cherry Vanilla. I would do anything for another tube of that chapstick.

2. Ohm Ginger and Citrus Body Lotions and Soaps
This didn’t stay on the market for very long. Apparently, I am the only person who found this to be the absolute most perfect smell for any sort of bath product. It just smelled so clean! It wasn’t flowery or spicy…. It was just a nice, fresh smell. Even the packaging was appealing. They arrived in fresh green colored bottles with graphic circles reminiscent of orange slices. It is the kind of product where you buy the soap and the lotion to match because you can’t stand the idea of not having that scent with you all day long. I still have a bottle of the lotion left and I only let myself use it on special occasions.

3. California Pizza Kitchen’s Thai Chicken Pizza
I have never been a big pizza fan but this pizza is out of this world! They still make it. You can order it in their restaurants as far as I know. But all of a sudden every grocery store I know has stopped carrying the Thai Chicken frozen version of the California Pizza Kitchen’s masterpiece pie. It may be a hard sell to some people, peanuts, arugula, and carrots on a pizza, but I assure you, it is the greatest tasting thing I have ever tasted and I am truly saddened by its disappearance from grocery store shelves. What is this world coming too?

4. Express Black Bar Pants
This is sad. I had this pair of black bar pants from Express. Several pair actually. I wore each of them until they were pits of string held together with staples and fabric glue. They went with everything. They looked dressy if you wanted them to. Casual, if you felt like going that way was a simple shirt or even a t-shirt and sandals. They were magnificent. And the one day, they just weren’t to b e found anywhere. I remember how I ruined the first pair. I was wrapping Christmas gifts and sliding the scissors across the wrapping paper and snipped a big whole into the leg of the pants. My back up pair I wore all through my first and second years at Ringling and by the end had stitched together several holes and even tried gluing frayed edges at the heels. It is very rare, indeed, that I become attached to an article of clothing. I loved, loved, loved those pants. R.I.P.

5. Naturalizer Brown Sandals
I’ll try not to harp too much on my forlorn sandals that have often been mentioned in my blog. I had them for many, many years and I wore them until they disintegrated and I bit the big one in the office supply aisle at Walmart where I took out a side-cap of scotch tape and received some nice bruises. In all they were the greatest and most versatile pair of all-purpose footwear known to man. I will give my life savings to the person who locates me another pair post haste.

6. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Pizza Crackers
These little crackers were shaped like pizza slices and had a biting “pizza” flavor. They were really pretty awful. I would never want to eat one of these things again, but just somehow knowing that they were out there somewhere would make me a happier person.
the cookies:

7. Ponds Face Dots
These things were great! They looked like little round, clear bandaids. You stuck them on your “acne problem spots” before bed, you woke up and the situation was always much improved. I found that they worked really well. Even my husband liked them a lot. Now, they cannot be found anywhere. I find it hard to imagine that mine are the only zits responding to them. But maybe my pimples are special. I like to think that they are.

8. Snap bracelets
Where the hell did they all go? Are they still in our teacher’s drawers, snapless for all eternity? What a waste of sheer joy. I used to think that they were made out of mini-blinds.

9. Annie Chun’s Hot and Sour Soup Bowls
Possibly the greatest freeze-dried hot and sour microwave soup in existence, this product is disappearing off store shelves faster than I can snap it up. If I find one day that they have stopped carrying it, the HEB has HELL to pay.

10. McDonald’s Old School Chicken Sandwiches
Yeah, I’m sorry but they used to taste different. And better. I would be so happy if they would go back to the 1980s happy version of the chicken sandwich. Nothing fancy just grade E poultry on a bun with some mayo and lettuce. Make it happen guys. Come on. I found this very version of said Chicken sandwich once in Canada on a school trip to Stratford. I know we saw a play that day… but all I remember is a Chicken Sandwich laden with memories of the old days.

There is a lesson to be learned from all of this. When you find something you like… maybe splurge and keep a few spares around. The corporate marketplace is an evil place where many a product is swallowed whole and never spit out again. Best of luck in keeping all of your loved ones close at hand.

Random Nonsense

2009-01-29T21:41:00.003-06:00

I decided to repost this from another application. It was fun to do and I really appreciate all the positive feedback I got. Glad to have made some people laugh. :)

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

1. I'm insanely shy and went through a "phase" circa the age of five when I talked through a Snoopy doll.

2. I've been to 13 different schools and I used to hate moving. Now I get restless within a year of living anywhere.

3. I am afraid of car washes and any other place where you have to position your car onto ramps just so...

4. When I was a kid, I used to obsessively dry and peal glue off of my hand. My best friend did this as well and it was serious business.

5. Once I convinced Ryan Payne that aliens lived in our neighborhood and to feed them we had to pry up bits of asphalt using a paper clip. we stored it in an empty butter container in my mailbox waiting for it to be absorbed by the mother ship. I was most disappointed when the only thing that happened was the mail lady asking my mom to please remove the cup o' street chunks.

6. Working my way through Ringling was one of the hardest things I ever did and I don't think I could ever do it again.

7. I'm always embarrassed to order my tunafish on wheat with cheese and onions sub at subway. Its the only thing I'll eat there.

8. I've never had a cavity until this year. I'm told it was due to uncontrolled diabetes, but I secretly felt like a failure.

9. I am always made fun of by an old friend for an incident that occured while I was driving him home from work. A deer jumped out in front of my car and I yelled: "Hey, big dog, what are you?" It made no sense and to this day I wish that my gut reaction would have been to... I don't know, BRAKE.

10. I often wonder what my family would have been like if we had never left Illinois.

11. I was certain that boullion cubes were chicken flavored candy. They are not.

12. My dad used to pull a board out of my bedroom floor and I could see into the basement. He would wind up toy doozers from fraggle rock and I thought they lived there.

13.I broke my right wrist twice. The second time resulted in surgery and now its made of 50% metal. If certain fabrics (or anything else) brush across my wrist in the right spot, I lose feeling in three fingers and my thumb for several minutes.

14. The scariest thing a doctor has ever asked me was if I had recently swallowed any small metal discs. (I hadn't, it was an error on an x-ray)

15. I used to put really... really... obscene amounts of butter oil (as in small animals could drown) on the free popcorn for the people that came to the forget-me-not shows at 7am at the Fenton Cinema. I still think they deserved it.

16. I came home from MSU in 2001 weighing under a hundred pounds and if I hadn't come home, I could have been in some trouble.

17. When I have had a bad day, the following things almost always give me some sort of comfort: pugs, the opening credits to Gilmore Girls, Snoopy cartoons, a white blanket with more holes than fabric, hot tea, music that reminds me of my parents washing the car in the driveway, and reading lamps with low wattage bulbs.

18. I am allergic to Mr. Bubble.

19.It has always bothered me that I lost a superball in a tree outside my grandmother's house and I never found it. Where the hell could it have gone. I'm fairly certain that there is some sort of vortex there.

20. I sucked my thumb until I was like 25. The dentist always knew. I hated him for that.

21. I once got my lip stuck to an A&W root beer bar. My mother finds this extraordinarily funny and makes sure to bring it up every couple of years. I'm pretty sure the story will be printed on my tombstone.

22. theme songs, jingles, and elevator music from the 80s constantly run through my head. I often rewrite the lyrics so that they are about my dogs. It amuses me and it amuses them. So... shut up.

23. My cousin made me a friendship bracelet when I was 8 years old. I still have it, though it barely even resembles colored string anymore. I keep it in a ring box as if it is an expensive diamond ring.

24. My uncle likes cars and I once found a hubcap on the side of the road. I remember proudly bringing it home and declaring that I was going to wrap it up and give it to him for Christmas and my mom looking at me as if the mail lady had just informed her that there was a butter container full of pavement in the mailbox. When I asked her recently if she remembered this story she said no and agreed that he would have loved that as a Christmas gift. I looked at her as if the mail lady had just informed me that there was a butter container full of pavement in the mailbox.

25. I never dreamed I would want to move back to Michigan, but now I think about it everday.

Imploring Employment

2009-01-29T19:57:00.004-06:00

I've been hoarding a small collection of "stories" (aka recent incidents) in my head for some time now hoping to get over them and not allow them to escape into the hostility of a blog sprinkled with conceit and self-righteousness... but that pot has boiled over and here we are.
For a multitude of reasons I still find myself unemployed. My "no worries, I'll find something" attitude has deteriorated away to sheer frustration which I imagine to be a giant sticky ball in my brain that looks like something that would be produced from the nose or mouth of a sick person. The frustration grows and sticking to it is guilt, doubt, hopelessness, self-loathing, hate and blame. Its not pretty. So with an already fragile state of mind, I am entering the world each day with a more attuned critical eye for the people around me. I find myself muttering the words: "... and I can't find a job," several times a day and, in my opinion, with good reason. In the last few weeks alone, I have been faced with these situations:

AT&T
I was taught when I grew up that one shouldn't hate. But I do, I hate them. I hate them SO much. It all started just after our move to Texas when we called and asked for new phone numbers that would reflect our new area codes. We were very clear that we didn't want new accounts and we didn't want to change anything, just the phone numbers. So they did that and told us that if we wanted I was eligible for a new phone. With my grandma living alone I had the brilliant idea to give her my old phone and I got a new "free" phone. Lesson number one: You get what you pay for. After not too long, the new "free" phone started shocking me in the ear and face on occassion. On one such occassion, I dropped it and it shattered like a piece of glass. We took it in to AT&T and told them what happened. This is when they chose to inform us that they had removed our insurance when we got the new phone numbers. So my only option was to buy a new phone at full price. Angry as I was, I may have done just that if it hadn't been for the notice we had received a few weeks earlier saying that due to our not paying the bill for our old phone number (which we no longer used) we had been sent to a collection agency. We called them to ask what this was even about as we still had the same account and they had no record of the bill or of us even having our Florida numbers, EVER, but informed us that we had better pay it because it would effect our credit. So I dropped my service with them and went to Verizon. Mike stayed on but asked when he his contract was up. They said March.
So, seeing as March is next month, we went in to find out exactly what day it was up and look at phones for Mike. When we arrived at approximately 7:30pm, the gates were pulled as if the store was closed, though their hours said they were open until 9:00pm. Sure enough, the door was open so we went in and found ourselves ignored by the store's three employees. One of them eventually informed Mike that his contract had been extended to August and I got really mad and started explaining our situation to which the girl started talking RIGHT OVER ME about whether or not they had a doorstop to prop open the door and let air in. So I stopped talking and waited and finally the boy turns to Mike and says in the snottiest tone I have ever heard: "Sorry Sir, we can't just "break the rules" for you." Mike informed them that it had nothing to do with breaking rules and that these were all THEIR mistakes. Long story short we left without what we wanted and I was mad and offended by the way we had been treated. I kept saying: "How do they have a job? When I did customer service I would have been fired in a heartbeat for not smiling wide enough!"

Next instance:
I pulled up to the drivethrough at McDonald's and the lady handed me my little bag of chicken nuggets without a word. I asked if I could have some sweet and sour sauce and she said: "What?" I repeated "Sweet and sour sauce, please?" and she went and got the manager! He came to the window and said: "Is there a problem, ma'am?" And I sat there completely shocked for a second before I said for the third time: "I just wanted to know if I could have some sweet and sour sauce for the chicken nuggets... if you're out or something, that's fine." He turned to the girl and said something really quick in another langauge and she turned to me with a big smile and handed me the sauce.
Wow.

The Last Straw:
I went to WalMart today. I only needed to get about 7 small things. When I went to the checkout I was second in line and waited about a half hour for the WIC family in front of me (dressed to the nines, by the way) straightened out which items the government would and would not pay for. Finally, its my turn and the lady checking me out hands me the cabbage and says: "you no buy."
I think about an hour passed as we stood there staring at each other and I tried to comprehend what was happening. Finally I said: "No.... I need to buy" and I handed it back to her.
She handed it back to me and said: "No. It no ring up," in some kind of Russiany accent. Again with the standing and the staring. Finally I announced that the cabbage was the reason I had come in there. Which, it was. I told her, as I dropped it back on the conveyor belt in a huff that I would go get a new one. This was all happening as a line gathered behind me and there were TWO supervisors standing around just watching this happen. So I ran all the way back and the other three cabbages that were left also had damaged barcodes from the plastic getting wet. So right there in front of the produce guy who had watched me struggle twice now to reach them off the top shelf I yanked the sign off the cabbages and marched it back over to her and said: "HERE."
She let out long angry sighs that there were no barcodes to punch in and that she had to find the produce code (which she could have done without making me have to run all the way through the store leaving my few items and a line of people who blamed me for the hold-up) and she dumped everything into bags. Without a word she turned herself away from me and handed the receipt OVER HER BACK SHOULDER and left me to squeeze in behind her to take my own bags.
Once again, I found myself wondering why I couldn't find a job but the employee of the month here didn't get so much as a raised eyebrow from the supervisor not more than five feet away during the whole incident.

This sort of thing is really taking a toll on me. Not to mention, with no graphic design jobs even available to apply to, I have taken to searching for ANYTHING else from nanny jobs to data entry. There are some crap jobs out there and I'm not even getting THOSE!

For your amusement here are some "job" postings this week. I am pretty sure that some of these belong somewhere other than the job postings, but what do I know. Also, I have not changed the grammar or spelling mistakes so you can really soak it all in:

wanted: one or two females needed for housecleaning new house... house isnt large roughly 1300 sq ft... a perfect detailed job not even needed.. only request is that u be comfortable performing this task in skimpy sexy wear.. will be private and safe.. there will be no touching or any kind of sexual favors..if u enjoy and can handle it can make it a routine deal.we can workout payment i was thinking around 200 dollars for maybe hour or less of work not bad.increase in pay if u come back. any questions and reply with pic..thanks

I'm thinking about getting a scooter and selling my car, but I've never driven one and am not sure if I should go through the trouble of taking an expensive motorcycle course without knowing I feel comfortable on one. I would pay $25 an hour for compensation. Thank you! Have a fun day!

我給我孩子們找一個保姆。星期三至星期五, 2:45-6ish。你可以帶來你白己的孩子This position requires you to have a car to pick up the kids from school and take them to karate/ piano. Cooking, grocery shopping and teaching Chinese are some of the duties。15 hrs/week. Do not apply if Mandarin is not your first language. 直樹力歲，直孑六歲。

I am seeking a training partner of similar size to myself to learn Brazilian Jiu Jitsu with me. I'm an instructor and can only compensate with individual instruction time. If you like submission grappling and are looking for a great way to be entertained while improving your fitness level please contact me. My professor is Joao Crus and joining his school would be required in order for you to train with me. His website is www.joaocrusbjj.com

I have written a movie that will be in need of TWO monster puppets. http://massify.com/pitches/onceuponatime

I know a few ninja's.... an I know there are a few custom boot makers.... Are there any custom ninja boot makers.... aka tabi boots or split toe boots? I would like to have a pair made out of leather....

I am looking for someone to file chapter 7 for me.

I'm a hairstylist in So. Austin and I have a weekly newsletter that goes out, via email, to my clients. I have over 200 emails.
Do to my growing business, and lacking in writing skills, I'm looking for someone who would like to do some bartering, like cut and coloring.
I'm looking for someone with creative idea around the beauty and self improvement area. Must have writing experience.
Compensation: no pay

GOOD TIMES.

So, A Priest Walks into a Bar...

2009-01-15T03:13:00.002-06:00

...Except replace priest with escaped mental patient and bar with MY HOUSE and you'll have my Wednesday. Now, I know what you're thinking. On Monday, a hobo rubbed his nuts on my car... and now I'm telling you that an escaped mental patient tried to break into my house. Yeah, and by Friday Unicorns will be flying out of my ass singing the Star Spangled Banner. But I assure you, its true. I know this kind of stuff just doesn't happen to people. But it HAPPENS TO ME.
It was mid-afternoon and like always, I was parked in front of the computer with my headphones on. Usually I can't even hear the phone ring when I'm in such a position, but today I heard an unusual noise. I wasn't alone because the dogs heard it too and began their frenzied barking, running, sliding, nail-tapping ho-down at the front door. I was taking the headphones off, alarmed, and hurrying to gather them up when the front door opened and the outside light flooded down the hallway. My first instinct was that my father-in-law had stopped by, knocked, and I didn't hear. But before I reached the entryway, the door slammed shut. Odd.
So I gathered up the dogs and looked out my little peep-hole to see a figure meandering around on the driveway-- someone I certainly didn't know.
My fingers flew to the lock and I half ran to the bedroom to peer out the window and see if anyone's car was at the house that I recognized. To my dismay, there were no cars and the mysterious person was gone. I ran to check the back door lock and immediately IMed Mike, who called his dad, who came right over.
Turns out, my mystery guest had also stumbled next door where my brother-in-law, Chase lives and was prepared to guard the house. He saw her face and realized that she had some form of mental disability and the last he made out was her helping herself to the daycare across the street where we assume she had been taken care of because she was not seen or heard from again.
It was at this point, I learned that a home for the mentally disabled lie right around the corner. Yippeee!
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a heartless bitch. Well, not always. After the fact I did feel really bad that she was lost and confused and I am very disturbed that she is wandering so close to a busy road. I hope she made it back to safety and I hope that the tard house keeps better tabs on their people. I was very close to becoming a special ed teacher and people with exceptional needs have always been close to my heart. I hate the idea that this woman was in danger. Yet still, the fact remains, a tard tried to break into my house and nearly gave me a heart attack.
So, to recap the events of my week thus far:
Hobo humpfest + Tard B and E = the story of my life. At least for the week of January 12-16.

Just a Squirrel, Trying to Give Some Nut

2009-01-12T19:32:00.004-06:00

"This could only happen to you," is a sentence I have heard many times in my 28 years, but I never really believed that I was the only one who found themselves in the midst of bizarre circumstances. After today, however, I give up. You win. Weird crap happens to me. I am stating it for the record: the unusual, uncommon, and unconventional have all taken a liking to me and I can't deny it any longer.

Today on my way home from the doctor I was stopped at an intersection. I reached down to read a text message from Michelle that I had already seen once-- but I needed something to naturally divert my eyes from the break-dancing hobo in the median. This trick failed me, however, when I found him yelling and holding his cardboard sign up to my driver's side window causing an instant stomach-drop freak out. I checked all locks and tried to remain somewhat composed as he took the sign down and began to hump my car door, rubbing his nuts up and down like a dog who had found the perfect leg. I was well aware of the fact that there was a hobo making sweet love to my door-- but I didn't want to look... and at the time was pretty shaken up. I shot off a text to Michelle explaining the situation and that was all I needed to occupy a portion of my brain until the light turned green and I could once again drive safely toward a car wash.

Some people look at the homeless with pity and say: "He's just a squirrel trying to get a nut." But I'm pretty sure that he's just a squirrel trying to give some nut. Unbelievable. I have no pity for this man. In fact, I think he owes me $9.00 for a car wash.

The Sad Tale of the American Writers' Demise

2009-01-08T19:27:00.006-06:00

Now that I have finished my classes and have once again begun the dreaded job hunt... the anxiety of finding nothing available to even apply to in my field is starting to take its toll. I have found myself digging through the depths of my mind searching for backup plans and the depths of the want ads searching for anything that won't require me to sell my soul or stand behind a cash register again. For me, ye olde standby has always been writing. I'm not sure if I'm really any good at it or whether I just think I am... and the bulk of my experience comes from newspaper work and mainly in school. I wrote the great American novel at the age of 8... 40 some odd pages of incoherent babbling and something about a whiz kid computer... and then again when I was 12. This time, I co-authored a 97 page atrocity in which I imagined Keanu Reeves playing opposite Christopher Lloyd in the feature film. Either way, its possible that I really don't have any sort of grounds to base judgement on but I refuse to let that stop me! You see, I was looking through the Conde Nast database for jobs in the Austin area. At any publication. ANY. That's when I came across this article for Glamour magazine with the headline: "The Sad Tale of my Favorite Shoes' Demise."
Granted, there isn't much to be expected from a story like this- a little featurette about someone's shoes. I envisioned it being cute and funny and I actually wanted to read it as I had a pair of shoes that I wore to oblivion as well. What I got was a trite, self-indulgent, piece of crap that massacred anything good about the story-telling process. Within the first paragraph or two, the reader is immediately overcome with, not a sense of the story, but a sense of how much the writer loves herself. Instead of funny little anecdotes about previous adventures she has had with her wayward shoes, you read about her seared eel skewers and hamachi snack on the glitzy streets of New York. All I know about her shoes is the name brand... but then again, I doubt much else matters to the author. To add insult to injury, she provides a picture that is God-awful. It is of her mammoth leg and you can almost see the shoe at the end of it, if it weren't for the refracted light off her oft-mentioned rhinestones.
I know I wasn't expecting anything worthy of a Pulitzer going in, but I still felt so cheated and dirty after reading this piece of garbage. I had to check out the comments and as imagined they made my eyes roll. Not one moronic woman commented on the complete lack of a story but instead dove right in to her own self-centered tale of woe without stopping for breath.
I stewed over this article and the fact that she had a job and I didn't. After irrationally fuming over this fact for several days I have decided to rewrite her piece to be something more attuned to what I would have hoped it to be. I am hoping that it will tell something of a story... something a little funny (since it should be about shoes, after all), and something less-- oh, I don't know, SELF-CENTERED? So below I invite you to skim through the first short article and please find my remake. Hopefully it comes out a little better. I guess we'll see.

The original Story can be found here:

http://www.glamour.com/fashion/blogs/slaves-to-fashion/2009/01/the-sad-tale-of-my-favorite-sh.html

otherwise I am copying and pasting below in case that link doesn't work (but the pictures are also pricelessly bad):

So I took your advice, lovely ladies, and I wore the comfy Calvin Klein mirrored wedges for New Year's Eve, so I could dance my arse off without worrying about being uncomfortable. Turns out, a pair of really broken in shoes may not be the best choice for a long night of partying...

I had barely scarfed the last of my seared eel skewers and yellowtail hamachi and stepped onto the sidewalk when...my old reliable friends decided to quit on me, right then and there! The rhinestone strap came right off at the edge, leaving one sad shoe dangling from my foot, and me walking the sidewalks of Nolita in my tights. In their defense, I've given them quite the beating over the years (I literally scaled a gravel hilltop in Tuscany while wearing them once, spilled about two gallons of margaritas on them at a birthday party, and shook my booty in them more than I could possibly remember), but how could they pick a time like that to say sayonara to me? After all we'd been through together? They were comfy and neutral-colored and sparkly and oh just everything you could want in an evening shoe...

So I made a (possibly champagne-fueled) decision then and there. They had served me so well for so long that it was just time for us to part ways. The sole was starting to part from the rest of the shoe and three of the rhinestones had found their way elsewhere and now, with the strap calling it quits, I tossed them in the garbage with a quick thanks for all of their years of service. If you love something, set it free! As much as I pride myself on my carefully curated closet, sometimes you've just gotta know when the fat lady has sung.

Amazingly, my uber-prepared friend Annie had a pair of flats in her handbag and wears a size 5 1/2, like me, so I spent the rest of the evening partying in pure comfort. Sad but true, my friends, sad but true...

What's the worst party fashion disaster you've ever had? Has your dress come unraveled at a wedding? Gotten a run in your hosiery with no spare pair minutes before a job interview? Lost a heel in the sidewalk grate? Leave your own stories (and your sympathies) here!

My version begins here:
If I had a time machine and could travel the space-time continuum, there is one place I would go before I witnessed the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the burial of Jimmy Hoffa, or the post-apocalyptic ruins of a post-nuclear future. That place is the Naturalizer, circa 2001. If I could only go back to that moment in time when I first purchased the most wonderful pair of shoes to ever grace the human foot, I would have been certain to purchase SEVERAL pairs in varying colors. I imagine that comfort is very important in the time travel industry, anyway. Why not, they give out pillows on airplanes... but I digress.
I bought these sandals at the Somerset Mall in Troy, Michigan. They are kind of strappy, kind of chunky, but just plain and elegant footwear. Never a huge fan of shoe shopping, I didn't realize that these shoes would change my life and I barely gave a thought as to which color I wanted. I ended up going with an all purpose brown. And all-purpose pretty much defines the very being of these shoes, anyway. If I wore them with a skirt, they looked dressy. If I wore them with jeans, they looked casual. They were so broken in and so comfortable that if they hadn't finally just deteriorated from over use, I would have worn them forever. (See photo below)

Shortly after this purchase, I moved to Florida and managed a movie theater. I wore these shoes there every day and saw them covered in butter, sweat, and splashed soda day in and day out. I wore them to the store where they were stomped in and stepped on. I wore them out with friends where they put on miles only to be kicked off later. I wore them and wore them and wore them and time passed and passed and passed.
Finally, in January of 2005 I got a puppy. A special dog, Midas was usually a friend to shoes. He made shoe nests and slept on piles of them that he would gather from all over the house. He chewed up books, pants, and miscellaneous papers that he would find lying around, but the shoes were always used solely for nesting purposes and I couldn't have been more glad for this fact. One day, however, I was sitting on the couch sliding into one of them when I noticed little nibble marks. My first instinct was to yell at poor Midas and I ran to see what horrible thing he had to be up to right at that moment. But alas, he was simply adding a peanut to his mysterious pile of peanuts that he had been collecting (and not eating) which is a whole other story...
Anyhow, after further examination, it didn't appear that Midas was really CHEWING on them, but dragging them around-- for nesting purposes. The sides had begun to weaken and I knew that the end would inevitably come. I had been denying their wear and their age for awhile now. For four years I had worn these shoes to every possible venue, outing, or event. I couldn't imagine not having them. So I clung. I continued to wear them in denial of all the signs that the disease was fatal. My husband was the first to give up all hope. He insisted that I throw them out and get shoes that weren't "stinky death traps." But I didn't listen. I kept pushing forth and made new memories and added new miles with each passing month.
The end came on a fall night late in 2006. Of course, it was always on the back of my mind, but I still didn't see it coming. Rounding a corner at the local Wal-Mart, my brain was occupied with the locating of refrigerator magnets when the strap broke... I went down like a gorilla with a tranquilizer in its neck. Customers scrambled out of the way and I took out an end cap of Scotch tape. My knee and wrist throbbing, I grabbed frantically for the shoe... but it was too late. It was the end.

"FINALLY." I heard my husband say from behind me. "Oh, I'm fine!" I shot back, fighting tears. The rest of the night was a blur. I know I left in new shoes. Shoes that would eventually betray me and join forces with evil gravity to mock my motor skills. It has never been the same. I have never fallen for another like I did for those sandals. When I think of the good times we had... I look back on that first day... to the very first moments that they were truly mine as I punched in my pin number. I remember how I had spent close to $50 on lotion for a friend that day as well. They had stopped making the lotion-- her favorite-- and I wanted her to get some before there was none left. These shoes, outlasted that friendship.

They say live life with no regrets. But I regret. If you ever find that perfect shoe... get another pair. Get two more pair. You NEVER know when they will leave you for good. Don't make the same mistake I made. Rest in peace, dear shoes. When that time machine comes my way, we will meet again.

Fair Well Fair Weather

2009-01-06T19:03:00.001-06:00

I dedicate this blog to Michelle and Angie. Two of the bestest people I have ever known and like me, have had their share of friends that don't have what it takes to be there for you, put themselves second, or even just be decent human beings. I hope we all spend 2009 with people that matter and can leave behind the fair weather friend and laugh off their ridiculousness after all.

Sung to the tune of the Golden Girls theme song:

Thank you for being a (fair-weather) friend.
You know I'll take your crap again and again.
We both know its true,
You're a pal when its con-venient.

And if you threw a party...
Invited everyone you knew...
You would see the person to clean up would be me
And you know I'll still come back
Because I am your doormat.

And, though you may not notice
I have had it just up to here.
You will see the next person to fix it won't be me
And I really will not miss
My little (fair-weather) friend.

La, la, la, la, la, la.

The Blammmme Gammmmme! Brought to you by Fancy Feast.

2008-12-03T13:22:00.012-06:00

Bravo, forever a staple on my television dial, provides the mindless background noise that I crave while getting dressed in the morning or folding laundry. It seems lately they are playing the Real Housewives series over and over. I must have listened to the same portion of the same episode a thousand times and yesterday was no exception. I turned on the ol' idiotbox just in time to see the train wreck of a face that belongs to "Kim" from said show.

I'm not sure exactly what went wrong there, but yikes. Anyhow, "Kim" was chomping on and spitting out words through her plastic lips-- something to the tune of: "[she] doesn't need negative people in her life. [She's] deleting anyone who isn't positive from her phone... blah, blah, blah, [she] is a positive person, blah, blah, diamonds and boobs."
Something about the way she said this... or possibly her neon outfit and bottomless cleavage, got me thinking about doing something positive with MY life. Here's my idea, tell me what you think:

It will all start with a teeth bleaching session. You see, I'm going to have to have really white teeth in order to start my new career as a game show host.

It will be called The Blame Game! with peppy, canned intro music and glittery prizes such as a lifetime supply of fancy feast kitty chow in a can and a cordless phone!

Contestants will come straight off the set of the Jerry Springer show and the object of the game will be to avoid all the things that make YOU a pathetic loser by blaming OTHER PEOPLE!!!! Contestants will be judged based on their ability to hose the audience into thinking that they, themselves, are not the ones who look down on or belittle others. That they are not selfish, or obnoxious, or rude.
You see, this competition will be for those who have low self-esteem and are wavering on the edge of sociopathic tendencies and personality disorders, however, their goal is to make YOU feel bad about YOURSELF so you don't notice how completely deranged they really are. Its the only way they can make themselves feel better, and the only way they can hope to win our grand prize: A walk-on role on Bravo's latest reality sitcom: So You Think You're a Positive Person?!

In between commercial breaks for Kay Diamonds and the Honda Fit,
I will flash the audience a glamour shot of my pearly white teeth and we will continue with the dramatized nut-flexing to see which woman, and or gay man will rationalize, re-project, and re-distribute all of their pent-up self-loathing most convincingly on a harmless victim chosen at random. It will be mad-cap mayhem coming to you Thursday nights at 9! Stay Tuned!

New Camera!

2008-11-08T17:15:00.005-06:00

Hooray! We finally have a new camera. I remember a few years ago when we got our last camera... it was a ten mega pixel wonder. We were so proud of this thing. I actually hope that we don't look back in three years on this one and laugh at ourselves the way we are when we remember getting the Olympus. Not that it wasn't a good camera. It is. Its just getting old. And to be fair its not even in the same class as our new digital SLR. We got the Canon Rebel XSI. Because we're rebels. Anyway, I figured I would post some pictures taken on our new camera, despite the fact that they have been reduced to web quality for the sake of uploading them to the Internet and now they just look like regular blah photos. Try to keep that in mind while you think to yourself: "What? I don't get it?" And enjoy.

First up, a shot of Maya playing the part of Jabba Da Hut.

This photo is taken in a very low lighting area and it still came out pretty clear. Maya is looking up at the last photo I posted in utter disgust:

Okay, enough making fun of poor chubby Maya. Here's a Maya glamour shot. Its a shame that you can't see how crystal clear every little hair is on the Internet. This picture is one of my new favorites of her:

Here's a shot of Midas that I also really like. Bear with me, I actually did take a few photos of things other than my dogs. Its just hard to take pictures of things around you without the world knowing that your house is a mess... haha

I love this one of Midas. How can you not love pugs. They are such fuzzy little people.

Okay, last image featuring family pets. This is a fish that we rescued from certain flushing about three years ago. We think he's about 35 years old. He comes when we call him. He's pink. He's a Gourami. He can suck a whole weekend food disc up to his lips. He made the drive across 5 states with us from Florida to Texas. He's hardcore. I wish you could see how awesome this picture is. When we enlarge it enough, we can see the arteries in his eyeball and the texture on his lips and fins. Its really an incredible picture. Way to go me.

Now for some fun glamour shots of Texas. We took the camera out to one of our favorite places, Bull Creek in Hill Country. This is a great place for people to bring their dogs on the weekend. There is a stream running across bedrock that leads to open (err... standing) water on both sides and behind there are winding trails that take you all over the place. Behind that even are some beautiful hills (which I thought were mountains, since I don't get out much) covered in trees and dotted with some pricey mansions overlooking the cliffs. We were thinking of buying one, but we bought the camera instead.

Huge for the Holidays

2008-11-04T14:07:00.004-06:00

Ahhh, its that time of year again. The Season of Weight Gain is upon us, and I love it so. From the first bag of Halloween candy that didn't make it near a single trick-or-treater, to the last of the Christmas cookies, it is a time of year filled with guilt and gluttony and I wouldn't have it any other way.

With only twenty days until I get to go home to see my family for Thanksgiving, thoughts are already turning to what to bring to dinner and how many family pets will throw up in the gorging aftermath. I'm very excited. In our family, the dogs are the "kids" of the family and the holidays are just as much for them as for anyone else. The rest of us have gotten old and crusty, but our dogs still cling to that youthful excitement of everything realated to the holidays and they make it more fun for everyone else.
I was thinking just this as my vet explained to me that Maya would be needing to go on food trials for allergy testing that would require her to forgo Thanksgiving this year. It may sound ridiculous, but to me it was the same as if she had told me that my hypothetical 4 year old child would not be allowed to have dinner with the family. It just is not an option. Granted, the previous portion of the conversation had labeled Maya as "a bit of a Chunker" so she could probably stand to skip it, but really... its just not an option. We're flying all the way to my parent's house in Michigan where we will be greeted by their two dogs and the whole place will end up being kind of a dog fun camp. On Thanksgiving day, they will awake early to survey the Thanksgiving preparations and spend the entire afternoon in close proximity to the oven. My dad will wait until no one is around, or so he thinks, and take turns lifting each dog for an up close smell (and in all likely hood, taste) of the turkey. At dinner time, they will each get to have a taste of the food with their normal meals and then my grandma will feed them tablescraps until they barf. It truly is the most glorious day of their lives, and it only comes once a year.
And Thanksgiving is just the beginning. Next comes Christmas and Midas takes a front seat for this one.
My husband adores the frosted sugar cookies and I made the mistake of giving a chunk to each dog last year. Subsequently, each time I would bake a new batch, Midas would sit in front of the oven and cry. It turns out, frosted sugar cookies send him into a frenzy of desire, and after only a small taste. Never have I had another dog paw at the oven door before or howl at me while I placed the cookies onto cooling racks. At least you can threaten a four-year old with an ass-kickin' and a groundin'.
And when it comes to gifts, I have never had a dog that didn't dive right in and open every wrapped piece of anything in their line of sight. I'm pretty sure they don't REALLY care what they get, but the shear joy of wildly tearing the paper off of soft squeaking items is more than they can handle. So as you can see, the holidays truly are for the dogs. My dogs, at least.
But what I was really trying to say is that personally, I am in for two solid months of temptations, mental calculations, picking, gorging, and finally, whining. It will be interesting to see just how well I can stick to my guns this year as a diabetic noob. I expect more on this subject to follow and invite anyone else to weigh in on the subject too.
I leave you with this holiday classic to get you in the mood:
Twas the Night Before Christmas:

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the store
The people were all in a larger size than before;

The blue jeans were hung by the chimney with care,
So the dryer wouldn't shrink their favorite pair.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of junk food danced in their heads;

And Mike with his pie, and I with my cake
Had just gone to bed holding plates for Godsake.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Put down my plate of cheesey potato mash

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a car full of relatives and cases of beer,

With a little old driver, so lively with spunk,
I knew in a moment, they're probably drunk.

More rapid than eagles the courses they came,
And we whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dinner! now, Candy! now, Pickles and Nuts!

On, Turkey! on Taters! on our hips, thighs, and butts!

Have another Christmas Cookie! Try another slice of pie!

Pile on the conidments, straight to the sky!

As dry heaves that before the wild turkey flew,
Tomorrow we'll make it all better-- With stew!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard, like a hog
The prancing and pawing of each little dog.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Straight down the hatch went the turkey I had found.

They are dressed all in fur, from their head to their feet,
And all they really care about is a bite of some meat.

A bundle of toys are flung on the floor,
And they know that at Christmas, they'll even get more..

Their eyes how they twinkle, their manners so bad--!
They beg from the table, but we're not even mad!

They'll each get their treats, its the least we could do,
We'll make our pets fat and they'll suffer too!

But back to the story, of how I got fat
I can't blame the dog, the neighbor, or cat

I have a broad face and a round little belly
If we run out of food, I'll eat a bowl full of jelly.

I'm chubby and plump, and its off to the gym;
As the holiday memories start to go dim.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
My trainer had given me something to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
"Do Curls," "Do crunches," man what a jerk.

And laying his finger on my wrist for a pulse.
He made such a face I thought it had to be false.

He sprang to his feet, to his team gave a whistle,
And to me they all flew, with what looked like a Bissle.

But I heard him exclaim, as I faded to sleep,
"Lipo for her, she's the size of a Jeep!"

Jar O' Head

2008-10-22T16:28:00.006-05:00

I would like to take a moment to thank my car for its amazing ability to go from 70 miles per hour, highway driving, to a tire screeching 7 miles per hour, Georgetown driving, without self-combusting. Now, when one thinks of big city life, you often think of the traffic and congestion. That should be the last thing you think about when you consider residing in Georgetown.
Georgetown is about thirty miles north of anywhere. It boasts residence to a Quilt and Sew instead of a Joanne Fabric. It has a Beds, Beds, and More instead of a Bed Bath and Beyond. There is a saddle repair shop on the main drag. You would be hardpressed to find a fast food restaurant that didn't prominently feature chicken in a bucket. Its that sort of place. And I always fancied myself as a small town kind of girl, anyway, but I must say... there's something a little off abouut Ol' Georgetown.
First of all, Georgetown is nestled between Sun City and a county law system whose penalty for driving over the speed limit includes death by hanging in town square. At least, I'm pretty sure. Sun City is an "active adult" community. I have never actually been over there, but judging from the traffic and the constant outandaboutness of its residents, I'm guessing the population is just over 765 billion. While I live on a road that has no substantial business ventures, it still takes me several minutes to get out of my driveway. Our grocery store is the last store in existence for 7 light years and it is PACKED to the gills until night fall each day. There isn't even elbow room to walk in the aisles. Sometimes, when I'm there, I worry that I'm on a makeshift rocket aimed at the Anterean culture of Cocoon... why else would so many seniors gather in one place so often... The elderly population here rivals that of Bradenton, FL where I spent 4 years in a town that had the buzz of Jepoardy in the air-- wherever you were-- at around 7pm on week nights. Because of this, you can rest assured that everything closes early and the businesses that dare to stay open risk being labeled as seedy or unscrupulous. The only thing unique about Sun City in comparison to Bradenton is that here, nothing opens early, either. Georgetown Commerce Hours of Operation: 10am-4pm. Closed 12pm-1pm for lunch.
But what does it matter? You have to go to Round Rock if you need anything, anyway. Georgetown is HELL BENT on keeping actual business entities out of city limits. They are however, all for community growth. This is best demonstrated by the fact that since I have moved in a year ago, there are two giant office complexes that remain empty... (well, one contains a Chinese buffet and a medical supply shop) yet despite this, they have built two more giant empty office complexes. That's four complexes, hundreds of empty suites, and acres or unused parking lots. For a year I have been waiting to see what will come fill up these empty storefronts. Much to my disappointment, however, the answer is: NOTHING. Nothing has come here. Well, nothing meaningful anyway. Granted, both complexes are still basically completely empty save for one business in each. Pappa Murphy's pizza, conveniently located across from Dominos (who doesn't deliver most nights, doesn't accept cash or checks and won't let you order online) and a "Mane Tamers" hair cutting place. I assume its for people and not horses, but we do have the saddle shop still... I have yet to ever see a car in the haircuttery's parking lot.
This is probably painting an entirely incorrect picture. As you drive through Georgetown, you're probably imagining a ghost town that serves pizza and offers hair care. This is not so. We do have a fabulous selection of gas stations and banks and a soon to be astronomically sized church. The street that I live on has, in a two and a half mile span, 358 gas stations, 212 banks (none of which are commonly known-- think Juan's Haus of Cash) and one GIANT sized Church with an expansion underway big enough to seat God, himself.
It's always been really funny to me that G-town has so many gas stations. The speed limit is getting slower by the day. Like I said, today I found myself going 7. At first I thought that school had gotten out. But no, everyone is just confused and slow here. So as we're crawling along at break-neck speed, I start to imagine the people of Sun City and how they must run this town. I pictured a group of young seniors... mid 70's, maybe. They want to lower the speed limit from the crusty 25 to a blistery 15. I'm almost certain that to bring a business in or change such a law here, one still has to go before the village elders... and since Sun City is just down the block, I'm thinking they probably have to put on robes that have rope belts and scratchy hoods and talk to a head in a jar. I'm guessing that's why nothing gets done here, why all these empty buildings are here but no businesses can come. No one can get a straight answer from the Wise Old Jar O' Head.

It may be time to move.

Ho, Ho, Holy Hell... Something From the Chimney Fell...

2008-10-14T18:29:00.004-05:00

It is a special day, indeed, when something plummets from the sky down the chimney... and the calendar claims to be October.
So, you can imagine the minor coronary embolism I experienced when, as I was minding my own business at the ol' computadora, my fire place begins making a sound that could only be described as the noise a rat would make if you chucked it down an air shaft. Both dogs leapt from their bed and barked like crazy and I swung around so fast in my chair, you would think I had heard someone announce that they were giving away free ice cream sundaes. All eyes were on the mesh gate enclosing the front of the fireplace.
Not quite sure how to take this, I mentioned the incident to some guildies who helpfully suggested that it could be merely a bird.... or Jebus. Either way, it would probably be safe to have a looksee. The sight was particularly horrifying, but only because the inside of my fireplace had become a massive spider and insect condo decorated with dirt and cobwebs from years of unuse. It was pretty disgusting.
But the heavenly treasure that had fallen from the sky was pretty baffling.
It seems that I am now the proud owner of a plastic bag with a magnet in it.
Not like a ziplock, but one of those little plastic pouches that contain screws or tiny allen wrenches if you were to, say, buy a desk to put together. The magnet was smallish and round. I suppose it could be radioactive... I still haven't touched it.
I did, however, take a picture.

Seriously, though. I hope come Christmas time, ol' St. Nick takes a closer look at my wishlist, because a bag o' magnet was not on it.

And the Boobies Have It.

2008-10-14T16:42:00.004-05:00

There it is folks. People searching for this image is the cause of 99.99999994% of the hits I get on this blog. It must be highly disappointing as the image has actually been removed... from the original site that I callously stole it from, and consequently from the blog entry that, in fact, claimed the hit count. Sorry pervs. Best of luck in your quest for boobies, be it artisticly inclined, or otherwise.

Running on... well.... caffeine, mostly...

2008-10-14T16:01:00.004-05:00

Some days I think to myself that I would like to run a marathon. Now, I'm not COMPLETELY dillusional in that I know a 5K is probably the outer limits of anything I could hope to accomplish without some major surgery, performance enhancing drugs, or the life of a beloved family member riding on its completion. But I would love to get involved with charities and do some good for the world as well as for my heart-- which I have come to envision as a cartoon sitting on a lounge chair with a beer hat and a bag of cheetos. So I toss the idea around. I think about training. Whether I'll ever actually do it... I don't know. It doesn't look good. In my search for a book called something to the tune of: "So, You Think Your Fat Ass Can Run a Marathon?" I found this poem (which I have altered ever so slightly):

Ode to Running
By: Dawn Dais (I think)

What's the point of running?
What reason could there be?
Running twenty-six miles
Makes no sense to me.

We have planes, trains, and automobiles,
Helicopters, scooters, and boats.
And if you really, really, need to
You could even ride a goat.

With all these options to move you
Why would you want to run?
Compared to runing for hours
Riding a goat sounds like much more fun.

Running makes you sweaty
And tired and cranky and sore,
And running around in circles
Can be really quite a bore.

But the worst part of running,
What drives me out of my mind,
Are the Chipper Happy Runers
Who are Chipper and Happy all the time.

They get up at 7am
To run too many miles
And whethere it's Mile 1, 5, or 10,
They still have that Chipper, Happy, smile.

I fear that I'm outnumbered,
And they're trying to wear me down,
They're trying to make me chipper
But all I can do is frown.

But I'll be nice to the Chipper People
And I'll tolerate their smiles,
Since they have so much friggin' energy
Maybe I can ride on their backs for awhile.

If I DO ever run a marathon, Half-marathon, 5-K, or hell, participate in the Special Olympics. I will be writing that book.

You Shut Your Mouth When You're Talking to Me

2008-10-03T14:43:00.008-05:00

Have you ever been talking to someone and you realize that you're treading uncertain waters and to broach even the most mundane topic can make the words catch in the back of your throat like a dolphin in a tuna net? In this country of free speech where no one seems to mind unloading their political, religious, or sexual preferences all over the bumper of their cars, their wardrobe, and their personal web pages, its kind of laughable that bringing up the subject of myspace or of MMOs or dieting or Macs vs PCs could be a wholly uncomfortable discussion. Yet somehow, it is. Whenever someone asks me if I get into the whole: "Myspace" thing, I feel as though my whole body sighs heavily and I have to prepare to defend myself. Well, it stops here and now. For what I hope to be the last time, I am going to defend some things that are near and dear to my heart and whether that means that I am a raging nerd or not, I don't care. If you read this maybe you'll understand why I think the way I do. If you don't, I'll be watching around every corner for a wedgie so back off.

1. "Myspace is gay."
That has actually been used as an argument from people who meant to dissuade me from the use of this "childish" Internet phenom. People will tell me that its for high school kids. Well, I'm pretty sure that calling things: "gay" is something that should only be reserved for high school kids. That aside, why would high school kids need myspace? They see each other all day in school, do they not? I love myspace because I went to 6 schools as a kid. I lost touch with all my friends until this wonderful little website came into my life. All the people that I loved and thought about over the years are now on myspace and I couldn't be more grateful to have some people back in my life. Its great for networking and job connections and meeting up with old friends when you're back in town. Anyone who thinks they're too cool for myspace is missing out. Have some common sense and take advantage of their security features if that's a concern. Don't post: "What kind of summer fruit are you" quizzes if you don't want to, but its a different world now. The people you grew up with scatter all across the country and all across the world. Being able to stay in touch is pretty nice... or you know... gay...

2. "MMOs are for nerds"
MMO = Massive Multiplayer Online game. I get it. So playing Warcraft doesn't make me chief contender for Homecoming Queen. Since I started playing this game, recently, it has been hovering just below the level of addiction. Not only is it super fun, but I play with people I know and can't see on a regular basis and in three different states. What could be more fun than coming home from a long day at work and slaughtering a horde village with your closest friends from around the globe? So what if its nerdy? This is the most fun hobby I have had in a long time and like myspace, you're missing out if you haven't tried it. Not to mention, I haven't been to a party or gathering since that hasn't had fellow addictees in tow. Lets face it, Warcraft is the new smoking. It gives you an instant connection and something to talk about, even if somewhere there is an illiterate jock telling anyone who will listen that "Warcraft is gay, dude."

3. "She's taking diet pills."
Eating right because you have to or you will die has become kind of a new thing with me. I'm not very good at it, but I try it consistently and I've made some headway... on certain days.... sometimes.
Either way, it always seems that I try my hardest in group settings because that's where it is the hardest. Its not because I'm showing off. That would be totally gay. For example. I was recently at a dinner party where the drinks for the evening were either soda or beer. Water was not on the menu. Next, came the breadsticks, followed by two fattening salads and a french bread style pizza-- all prelude to the dessert.
Now, trust me, I would have loved to pour myself a tumbler of coke, and create a breadstick log cabin on my plate to house my 15 servings of 6 inch thick cheesy pizza and top it with a chunk of cake, but none of these items, save for a scaled back version of the salad, screams diabetic friendly. So I made my choices. No drink, no bread, no dessert. One slice of pizza and a salad. I often wonder if such eating warrants so much attention because it is in fact strange, or is it me? Do people I know expect me to go for broke at the buffet? I don't know. Either way, I recently overheard a friend of mine telling another group of friends that I take diet pills and that's why I have lost weight.
Um, no. I passed on the beer and the cheese fries, thank you. I also have been known to make an appearance at the gym. While I'm not exactly a pillar of fitness and no piece of chocolate is safe within my grasp, I did the work myself. Thanks for the backhanded compliment.

4. "Politicians, aren't we all."
I am so completely disillusioned with politics right now, that I won't even begin to fight with you. But you know what? Obama doesn't have all the answers. He's an amazing speaker... but his promises, too, are outlandish. Pull your head out of your ass and get over yourself. The majority of people who speak with authority on the subject know so, so little in the over all picture of the health of the nation and the consequences and requirements of the campaign promises on both sides. Even if we had a great candidate, there really isn't anything they can do-- politically, their hands are tied in many ways. The best you can do is find someone who closest matches your ideals and cast your vote. So get off your soap box, you sound like a moron. You and I don't know a thing... unless of course you are one of the big business money holders. Then, I suppose you have a major stake in the outcome of everything and a driving force at that. The rest of us are just part of the illusion.

5. "Mac or PC, one is silver and the other is gold. But who cares."

For the love of God, owning a mac doesn't make you an after shot from an episode of "Queer Eye"-- pass it on.

6. "Girls who think other girls who play video games are weird."
When I was seven I sat in Justin Geckle's bedroom playing Mario for the first time with him and Jesse Rivera. It was a defining moment in my life. From Christmas of 1987 I would never be the same and I'm proud to say that even at 28, I can beat any boy* at any game, at any time. I grew up in a neighborhood full of boys and we always played. I moved to a new state and didn't know anyone so I came home and played because I had no one to talk to. I played gameboy in the car because we were always on the road. I read nintendo power magazine. I traded games and new cheat codes.
Fast forward. I married a man who works in the game industry. He's a character designer. I routinely hang out with game designers, environment artists, and animators. How could I not love video games? They surround my life like pugs at your dinner plate and it would be a lot more boring if I didn't share that with them. Sure, I can also make a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies, and I can't ever open pickle jars, but being able to kick your ass at Wii boxing, just makes me that much cooler. Do you see now?

And that's the list. I could write more but its getting late and I still have to go to the gym before coming home and playing warcraft. Have a great weekend, everyone, and I now have a button on the right side where you can follow my blog. Please do so, or else I will feel like a big, gay nerd.

*Any boy with the exception of Ryan Martin who has always bested me at every game, that Wiley devil.

Terror Wash

2008-09-09T15:25:00.002-05:00

That time of year is coming-- my favorite time of year. The fall, before Michigan would turn to a frozen icicle of depression for 7 months and the blistery boredom of summer would come to an end. When I was a kid I loved it because it meant thinking about going back to school. I'm not sure I loved the idea of going back to the classroom as much as I loved the idea of change, and new winter clothes and having a purpose from day to day. But I also love the smell that's in the air and the anticipation of the holidays-- which I have always been a big fan of. Especially now that I don't get to really have them anymore. I love looking at all the autumn decor in the stores and at the years popular halloween costumes and the creepy knicknacks, though I was always fortunate enough to have amazing homemade costumes that weren't cheep and flimsy and although my only real adult experience with trick-or-treaters was disappointing and borderline annoying. Either way, I love the fall. I love Halloween. I love the ramp up for the holiday season... minus the last minute Christmas shoppers and I can't forget to add somewhere to the list the haunted house.

Some of the best years of my life were spent with the cinema crew caravaning from haunt to haunt in the late October months. Even years later when I lived near Halloween Horror Nights in Orlando, the overthetop spectacle of it all didn't live up to the memories I had built of those years with those people... waiting to be scared to death on our nights off. It was good times. So why, you may ask, would the sight of my car covered in an explosion of bird crap and splattered bugs from the Mexican border remind me of those moments and of why I love the fall?

Well, it was actually Mike who came up with it. We had taken my car for a carwash and decided to bring the dogs along. Watching their reactions he said: "This must be like a haunted house to them. To be scared and excited at the same time." He was completely right and it was the funniest thing I have ever seen. As the high pressure water and soap banged against the windows both dogs would leap from driver's to passenger's sides and at the dashboard... barking like crazy-- in an absolute frenzy of nerves. But they weren't scared... not really. Infact, they both looked as if they were having the time of their lives with their tales tightly curled and pinging back and forth and their little faces beaming in between snarls and barks. Maybe its because for a moment they had permission to go completely crazy and let loose to be scared of what was going on while feeling completely safe the whole time. It reminded me of standing in a room with strobe lights blinking and masked chainsaw maniacs lumbering toward me while my brain struggled to make out the shapes of my friends and my sister who were all there and yelling and laughing.

I wonder if they will look back and think of the car wash as being one of the best moments of their lives. Probably not as long as dinner arrives on time with each new day. Either way, I can't wait until fall comes again. I missed it for so long in Florida. I've been waiting forever it seems.

And to all you damn birds: Stay the hell away from my car you little crapbags.

Of Course Its Healthy. Its a Salad, Isn't It?

2008-08-25T20:51:00.001-05:00

'
Ordering a salad should automatically score you points for health but anywhere that I have actually attempted this, has ended up a futile mess.

Even your most basic salad usually comes with a heaping ladle of shredded cheese, croutons, bacon bits, and forget it if you order something with meat. Restaurant establishments want to throw fried chicken, greasy ham, or candied walnuts in the mix. Creamy dressings, manadarin slices that have been marinating in sugar water, and my favorite, the random chinese noodle.

Lets face it. You've already got my $15.00, just give me lettuce and vegetables that haven't seen a deep fryer.

Thanks.

From this point on, I'm going to keep a tabulated salad score card and tell you where you can and cannot find "healthy salads."

This is the excitement you have all been waiting for.

Salads that will KILL YOU:
1. Applebees. Anything from there. Ever.
2. Stone Canyon Cafe.
3. Alamo Drafthouse. (Well. Okay. You're asking for it there.)
4. TGIFridays
5. Chuys
6. Casa Ole
7. Chilis

Salads that taste good AND are good for you:
1. Monument Cafe
2. Tropical Smoothie Cafe
3. ???

And on the other extreme. I recently had a $18.00 salad that consisted of lettuce, ceasar dressing, and ONE GRAPE cut in HALF. It would have been fine by me if the salad had cost $0.75, but come on now.

All I'm saying is, why try and eat healthy at all if your salad is going to clog your arteries slightly less than a cheesecake?
Eh?

Thhhhhheeeyyyy'rree GROSS.

2008-08-21T17:18:00.007-05:00

What happens when Tony the Tiger, of Frosted Flakes fame, goes into the pizza business? Horrible pizza happens. HORRIBLE pizza.

It looked okay on the box: Tony's Cheese Pizza for one.
Microwavable. Gooey. Delictable? Maybe.

I followed the instructions:
Place a papertowel on microwave safe plate. CHECK.
Place pizza on microwave safe plate. Do not eat frozen. CHECK.
Microwave for 2-3 minutes. CHECK.

I figured 2 minutes and thirty seconds was perfect.

However, when I came back for my pizza a moment later, it had mutated into what can only be described as a medical disaster.

There is a large benign tumor radiating from the center... its flexible, but at the same time has elasticity that allows it to spring back from any prodding into its original position. It has flattened and spread out, taking on portions of the paper towel as its own skin. When pealed from the towel and inspected closer, it is clear that the foundation of said pizza was either a stale, flattened english muffin or a skin-hued frisbee.

A knife and fork will not cut into it.

It smells like a dumpster behind an Italian restaurant.

The dogs are not interested in the least.

I think its trying to get away from the plate...

Anyway. After much consideration, I think, instead of eating it, I'm just going to set it free in the backyard.

Beauty School Drop Out

2008-07-26T16:45:00.000-05:00

If anyone needs me for the next 2-3 weeks, I'll be hiding in the closet writing over and over: "I will not cut my own bangs. I will not cut my own bangs. I will not cut my own bangs."

But don't feel bad for me, it actually works out. I just had my eyes dialated and have been walking around with paper sunglasses that I like to call people repellers. Dark places where people can't witness the visual atrocity that is moi, bode well for me.

Dial R for Idiot

2008-07-11T18:40:00.003-05:00

Today had all of the neccessary ingredients to be completely sucktastic. I was trapped in a fart cloud, old ladies think I shoplift, I melted a kitchen appliance, my dog ate half an old meatloaf and the cell phone people have declared me ineligable to own a phone that doesn't require an empty tin can to transfer sound.
Bake at the temperature of the inside of my house/oven and yippy skippy, you have a very angry short girl with a lot of dishes to clean.

So much to rant about, where do I begin? Oh, I know. The fart factory. For the second day in a row now, I have been sandwiched between two people on treadmills at the gym-- because if you have ever read my blogs before, you already know that people LOVE to be close to me while I sweat. Today was a new gym high, though, when the guy next to me allowed some bombs to squeak out his sweaty crack. I still had 20 or so minutes of cardio left when the fart fog started choking my will to live. Who DOES THAT? I can't even imagine being okay with letting a few slip by, even if I wasn't in such close proximity to another human being. Fortunately, for me, he left shortly thereafter, presumably to go to the bathroom before he shit his pants. Super.

Next on the agenda, I went to my favorite place, HEB. The local grocery store. Here Everything Bites. You see, Mike is going away on a business trip this weekend with a few of his work buddies. They're all driving out to Dallas, so I thought I would be the nice person and buy a cooler and fill it with drinks and snacks for the trip. I picked up a cooler with a price tag that said: $15.97. It was a plastic, red, average cooler. It didn't have wheels or speak Italian, it was just a PLASTIC BOX CAPABLE OF HOLDING ICE! Anyway, after I had loaded my cart with waters, red bulls, gatorade, cookie mix, chips, and various other crap, I get up to the counter and unload it all and lift the cooler so the lady can scan it. She pulls the price ticket off and looks at me funny.
"Is this the ticket?"
Me: "Uh. I think so?"
Her: "Ma'am... I think I'm going to have to scan the actual cooler." (O-kay. I had tried to hand it to her after all.
She rings it up and the damn thing is $69.99!!!! Now. Like a moron, I am so flustered by the fact that she obviously thought I was trying to pull one over on the ol' HEB and take my own discount on something that should never have cost that much to begin with... that I just say: "ice" when she asks if there will be anything else. I should have screamed, "Hell no, I'm not paying SEVENTY DOLLARS for a PLASTIC BOX. I'm ASSUMING it can walk back to the shelf on its, own?" But I just bought it. Like an idiot.

So, so many things running through my head at this point. I walked over to the ice bin, took my ice and lo and behold, I grab the bag that has been torn open. So I point this out to the lady that was bagging my stuff for me and she says to me:
"Excuse me miss, how many bags of ice were you needing today?"
Me: "what? One..."
"Her, well, we took the liberty of putting that in your cart already. Next to your COOLER."
Me: "Thank you. I didn't see that. I need to go stand in traffic now."

So, so many things wrong with this picture and now all I can imagine is how HEB thinks I'm a shoplifter and Mike is going to make me return the $70.00 cooler. Fabulous start to this day. Simply Supreme.

My next adventure was at Cingular where they took down my information and informed me that I am not eligible to upgrade or purchase a new phone from them, even if the one I have currently zaps me in the face when I use it. I will however, be eligible for a brief window of time in August of 2009. YES!

When I got home from this, I discovered that Maya, who is on a fat dog diet has gotten into the trash and eaten half a meatloaf. To celebrate this, I left a hand blender sitting a bit too long in the hot pot of soup I was making and it melted. It looks like it didn't survive a nuclear holocaust.

I hope you are all having a better day. I for one am going to have a drink and watch old sitcoms with my blankey.

The Sweet Life of Being a Pet Owner

2008-07-09T17:56:00.002-05:00

Pugs are great for many reasons. They're sweet and loving, small enough to not be a pain in the ass, but big enough not to be annoying... and they have a built in little mood barometer. When the tail is curly, all is well with the world. But when it is straight and floppy, something is amiss.

I received such a warning today on my way home with Midas riding shotgun. I glanced over to find that his tail had straightened out and he had a bizarre look on his face. As if he could answer me, I said: "Aw, Midas, what's wrong."

And he did answer me. He answered me by puking his guts out all over the passenger seat of my car.

Hooray pugs.

Blogafreakinpolooza

2008-06-18T19:14:00.001-05:00

Wow, its been so long since I have had the time, and more importantly, the energy to sit down and really complain about life, that I worry I may have lost my readers! Both of them!

I have had a bunch of things floating around in my head, though, that I wanted to tell you about so I'll try to cram it all in here and then maybe not get so behind again. If you're expecting any sort of order or grammatical structure to this, however, you're not likely to find it. Infact, I've already lost my train of thought as my eyes wandered over to Maya who is sitting quietly in the sun chewing the face off a stuffed rabbit.

Okay then.

First off, in my unwellness, I got to spend more time in bed watching TV than I am accustomed to. I kept seeing this annoying Nutri-system commercial over and over again with Jillian Barbiere in it and it really makes me think that the creators of these commercials, or possibly even the entire product line, are men. But not just any man, stupid, stupid men.
I'm not exactly your ladie's lib candiadate of the year-- infact, I hate Hillary Clinton, but I do think that these commercials are mildly offensive!
The first time I ever noticed them was when they boasted the pretty, skinny later who gushed all over about becoming a trophy wife. Wow, what a catch. But I get the idea and blah, blah, blah, didn't think of it again. Until Ms. Jillian Barbiere steps out onto the scene wearing form-fitting blue jeans and a top that shines like a polyester moon. Her big job is to catch a football and announce triumphantly: "Now, how many girls can do that?!"
Ummm... lets see, how many girls in the world minus the ones without arms minus Marcia Brady and I think we've got the answer! What do you mean how many girls can catch a football that is gently tossed in their direction? I don't know about you, but if someone tossed me a football, I would whip off a shoe and hold it up to my face and start talking on it like it was a telephone. THAT IS JUST HOW CONFUSED I WOULD BE.
And when this whole diet revolution first blorted onto the scene a few years back, I never assumed that its shiny, plastic, red-tinted food stuffs were for fat women only... I assumed that they were for fat PEOPLE. How wrong I was, as they have now, due to popular demand, I suppose, come out with a Nutri-System for Men. It is probably a bag of low-fat chips and a video of Jillian Barbiere catching a football in slow-motion set to repeat a thousand times. I don't know. Feel free to watch the above video and see if you get what I'm saying.

Also, be sure to check out my other two blogs below. I decided to split them up for readability sake.

Clearly I can't think of a witty way to end this, so I'm going to crawl into the closet with my plastic hamburger and hide from any footballs which could be wizzing through the air.

Here Piggy, Piggy, Piggy

2008-06-18T19:04:00.003-05:00

Advertising. Apparently anyone can do it. Commercials and TV spots are getting worse by the second, it seems. I have thousands of examples of commercials that make my brain hurt, radio spots that grate at my last nerve, and badly photoshopped print ads that put my entire industry to shame. If you're going to hire some girl who can't even catch a football to do your advertising, then make sure that what they're churning out doesn't cross the line from "bad" to "I think I'll go ahead and not use this product."

One such moment occurred for me just yesterday. I had been making sausages for Mike for dinner. I'm not a big sausage fan. You will never ever hear me say, Mmmm, I think I'll have some sausage. Though, I had to admit, as I was cooking them, they smelled pretty darn good. I picked up the package and was looking at the label as I pondered whether or not I would try a piece of one and there it was, this particular sausage manufacturers idea of a great logo:

It was a baby pig nuzzling the face of the mommy pig. Not only did both look sublimely happy, but it pretty much looked like it should be on the cover of a children's book. Well, gee. Can't wait to take a big ol' bite out of that.

Way to go, Slovaceks. I'll be eating your sausage never.

Thumb-Sucking Litterer

2008-06-18T18:43:00.003-05:00

I never understood the mentality of someone who could just litter. How could you just toss something on the ground and walk away? I feel guilty for dropping something, for God's sake. I guess its the same mind-set that makes people think its okay to leave their piles of garbage on the seats, floors, and in the cup-holders at the movies. Someone else will clean it up, right?

As if that weren't bad enough, I actually ran into someone who is a truly trying to be an all-around parasite on the planet earth and making brilliant strides in doing so. I was pulling up to one of Georgetown's many 7 minute stop-lights where you sit in long lines and watch tumbleweeds blow past the intersection and something was catching the light in the corner of my eye. It was a van in the lane next to me where a girl, about my age... who I can only assume can't catch a football... had rolled down the window about halfway and was stuffing mounds of trash out onto the road. Cups, fast food bags, and God knows what else were all raining from her window. As she stuffed the last piece out, she settled back into her seat, stuck her thumb into her mouth, and went to town on that baby like it was a trumpet in a jazz band.

Mesmorized by this, she noticed I was looking over at her. I don't think I was leering, and despite my fantasies of rubbing her nose in her garbage mess like a dog, I wasn't giving the stink eye or anything (a look which I have perfected, by the way) I was just looking in that direction.... at the thumb sucking litterer.

Well, stink eye or no stink eye, the fact that I had been looking over there at all was enough to send her into a rage that involved a whole other finger. She started screaming random swear words at me in Spanish and flicking me off, hanging out the window like she was going to somehow REALLY make a point that way. Either way, a reaction was required somehow. I could have been mature and ignored it. I could have started screaming back, though, chances are, I don't want to mess with someone who is tough enough to suck their thumb in public. Anyway, I could have been the bigger person... but I wasn't. Instead, I gestered to myself as if saying: "Me?" and then wiped a fake tear from my eye... which sent her straight over the edge.

Of course, now, all of the turtles had finished crossing the road and the light was green. So I drove away and she continued to sit in the intersection shaking her middle finger at me... or drying her thumb in the wind, something like that.

But as I drove away, I couldn't help but wonder:
"WHAT IN THE HELL?!"
First of all, I didn't confront her.
I didn't point and laugh.
I didn't make a snotty face.
And, oh yeah, I DIDN'T DUMP MY TRASH ALL OVER THE ROAD.
As far as I can see, I didn't really do anything that warranted being called a dirty pirate hooker (maybe not exactly what she said) and I'm not even sorry that I caught the thumb-sucking hour in the low-life van. It made my day a little more interesting.
But I guess the whole thing was pretty interesting for her too.
I swear, I couldn't make this crap up. What a world.

Sabotaging Your Own Love

2008-05-07T14:18:00.003-05:00

I don't care if you're Mother Theresa, the moment you get on the road, in your little car, everyone is the enemy. You hate everyone simply for existing. There isn't a single other car on the road that is really a good driver. They're going too fast, too slow, you catch them trimming their toenails with no hands or feet on the wheel, they can't use a cell phone and manuever a turn, whatever. You know you hate them. We all hate them. So logically speaking, KNOWING that you hate everyone on the road, it stands to reason that everyone on the road hates you. That said, why would you choose this medium to advertise your cause. How many times have you seen some idiot causing minor gridlock in the passing lane and scoffed to yourself: "Ha, an Obama fan. Figures."
You're not scoring any points for things you stand for when you advertise on your car. Even people I agree with that irritate me on the road, leave me reevaluating my own system of beliefs. Worse yet, the people who raise my blood pressure the most are out there with their: "I'd rather be shooting a deer in the face" bumper stickers and their metal scrotum hanging from the back hitch and that makes me hate hunters and neanderthals THAT MUCH MORE.
So, the moral of the story is, the next time you think its a good idea to Free Tibet, maybe buy a t-shirt or something. Because when you cut me off on I-35 it makes me think that maybe Tibet can kiss my ass too. And the world... can be a better place...

H.E.B. Here Everyone's a Boob

2008-05-05T17:58:00.002-05:00

H.E.B. is our local grocery store. The only local grocery store. There is no Albertsons or Kroger that I know of in a 100 mile radius. Just HEBs as far as the eye can see. It stands for "Here Everything's Better" but in reality, I've come to the conclusion that on any given day, at any given time, I would rather remove my fingernails by sanding them down with a piece of sandpaper soaked in sulfuric acid than have to stop by this establishment for any reason. Rather than rant about the many reasons why death is preferable than having to stop in and buy an onion, I think I'll shorten this to two top ten lists. In case you haven't noticed, I have been sick and this marks my return to humanity... or the lack thereof within the public realm.

Part I:
Top Ten Things I Would Rather Do Than Go to HEB
10. See if I can pull a pot roast through my nose- in one nostril out the other.
9. See what the inside of a fire ant hill tastes like.
8. Give up on eating the food sold at HEB and subsist on rocks from now 'til eternity.
7. Carve the first half of the Webster's Dictionary into my arm with a rusty nail.
6. Become a professional country line dancer.
5. Experiment with household cleaning products to find the latest whitening sensation in dental hygiene.
4. See what it feels like to take a deep cleansing breath whilst submerged in a tank full of lemonade.
3. Don an entire wardrobe made of finely woven nose and butt hairs.
2. Only listen to music that features the tinny sounds of the harpsichord.
1. Be on the receiving end of an enema filled with Dave's Insanity Sauce

Part II
Top Ten New Slogans Proposed to HEB for Their Consideration
10. HEB: We Speak Much The English
9. HEB: Where Time Stands Still.
8. HEB: Where Your Will To Live Stands Still... and then Goes In Reverse.
7. HEB: Our Produce Aisle Fits 4
6. HEB: Second Home to the Elderly
5. HEB: Spend Some Time in Our Parking Lots!
4. HEB: Give Us Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Muddled Asses.
3. HEB: Because You Have To!
2. HEB: My Nephew Designed Our Parking Lot!
1. HEB: You Know What They Say About Big Shopping Carts!

The Seedy Underbelly

2008-03-22T00:58:00.002-05:00

Every small town has their small shops and stores that make you wonder how the owners make rent. You know the ones, Italian food by Pedro Gonzalez, western-boot repair, and the occassional inspirational gifts by Betty. I've seen lots of places like that in my 28 years of residency on planet Earth. I've often found myself wondering how Dave's Tennis Racket Repair is a legitimate functioning business or how the man selling battery powered light up wall art next to a used vaccuum retailer gain enough profit to make their entreprenuership worthwile. Then I came across a little place in Winter Park, Florida, whose name I must change. We'll call it... Aircraft Parts Supplier. In all the time that I lived out there, worked out there, and frequented the street in which said supplier was located on... it never seemed to have any customers.... during normal 9-5 hours that is. Maybe it was a coincidence, but whenever Mike and I would be coming back from the movies, or bookstore, we would have to stop for someone turning in to their parking lot. Even after midnight. It made me wonder if maybe this place that seemed to sell parts for aircrafts and satellites (because there's a huge consumer drive for those products) in the middle of the night was maybe just a front for... I don't know... a meth lab?! A crack den? A Burlesque house? It just seemed like some sort of cover up so all I do is imagine something seedy with sinister late-night goings on. Incase they have the internet bugged-- I am in no way accusing them of ACTUALLY being a crack den... this is all just speculation... imagination... what have you. Just something that has crossed my mind. This place boasts the traffic of 500 customers a day... but I can't imagine that many people in the Orlando area are desperately seeking wires or replacement parts for satellites. I'm pretty sure the people of Orlando are desperately seeking a beer and some bbq chips. Am I crazy here?
I must be. I have since come upon another entreprenueral anomoly. Its a little place right here in Georgetown called Beds, Beds, and More. They have weird hours that change daily and make little mattress TeePees in triangle formations on the front lawn.I have racked my brain to come up with reasons that this place could possibly be a functioning business enterprise. It is about thirty miles north of any sort of metropolitan area. It is a little out of the way shop that I can't imagine anyone going out of their way to get to. Not to knock them, I'm sure that they carry a quality product, I'm just trying to figure out the financial logisitcs of it. First of all, it is nestled on the outer edge of Wolf Ranch which boasts two high quality competing mattress chains and a sleepnumber superstore. Beds, Beds, and More displays many of its mattresses on the front lawn. Its literally a step up from buying your bed at a garage sale-- appearance wise. I can safely point out that as a consumer, when I was in the market for a new bed a few months ago, Beds, Beds, and More didn't make the cut of places to shop and I would by no means call myself financially well off. Georgetown, however, seems to be a town of people who are fairly pretentious and I'm not saying that to sound like a jerk. "They" have actually gone out of their way to perpetuate the "Georgetown" attitude by launching a T-shirt counter-campaign against neighboring Austin's: "Keep Austin Weird" slogan. Georgetown, with it's conservative and non-eclectic view of life proudly propogates "Keep Georgetown Normal" apparell. So, since Georgetown, in theory, is not a fan of the eclectic and Bed, Beds, and More is certainly of that genre... I am left again to wonder where their customer base is coming from. I seriously doubt that people are driving in from other towns to buy a bed off a lawn... so where is the revenue coming from? WHERE?!!!!
I have tried and tried to make sense of this conundrum, but the only thing my brain can come up with is crack dens and prostitution rings. I'm sorry. Either that, or I should open my own Pug Petting Zoo or something. Maybe I could make and sell toilet paper cozies out of old bubble gum wrappers? Either way, business must be good and I am missing out.

Brought Down by the BBQ

2008-03-12T14:21:00.005-05:00

It has happened again, in a small, midwestern town, another family has been torn about by barbeque. My family.

It all started pleasantly enough on a warm, sunny, Texas afternoon at the dog park. Everyone was happy and relaxed when we got in the car to go home and my thoughts began to wander to lunch. What could I grab quickly on the way home. I would pass a handful of Chicken Shacks en route, but they have yet to sound the least bit appetizing. Then I remembered that The Pit Barbeque had a drive-thru. I had never eaten there before, but I figured I could grab some lean sliced turkey and share it with the dogs. I thought that would be really NICE of me.

So I did just that and the ride home got curiouser and curiouser. First I had the bag of meat on the passenger seat since both dogs prefer to ride on my lap but Maya had slithered over to the passenger side and was rubbing up against the bag like a cat does to a stranger's leg.

I moved the bags to the backseat and Maya promptly collapsed into a pile on the passenger seat-- playing dead-- where she remained until we got home.

Once home, I emptied several large pieces into both her and Midas' bowls and some onto a plate for myself. By the time I walked to the table Maya was already at my heels with eyes as wide as saucers, desperately perched on the tips of her toes.

Here's where I made the mistake of brushing her off and sitting down to eat my own food. Her little, tiny, kolache body exploded into a ferocious stream of smeeps and woofs and growls the likes of which I have never heard. I'm pretty sure that cussing was involved and also a musing over why in all the time we have lived here, she hasn't had fresh turkey slices before.

When I went back to the kitchen for a glass of water, I broke down and gave them each a few more pieces by hand. Like a wide eyed, mechanical duck, Maya slurped down the pieces without even considering chewing.

We haven't spoken since her little outburst. She is sitting in the corner giving me the stink eye and occassionaly checking the contents of her empty food bowl.

It is a sad and tragic thing when families are ruined by the wonders of barbeque. Maybe Maya will come around... but most likely she's going to have the Turkey Trots.

The Short and the Fat of it.

2008-03-11T15:20:00.006-05:00

The drawstring is one of those amazing inventions that appeals to the dog on so many levels. I couldn't tell you what a single one of those levels are, but the appeal is there, none-the-less, and so came an end to yet another pair of gym pants.
Actually, that's not completely true. Despite the fact that I had apparently interrupted an intense game of tug-o-war with my pants the other night, the damage was pretty minor. Thing 1 and Thing 2 had managed to create a hole the size of a quarter where the drawstring used to feed through the top of my pants. Does anyone really like drawstring pants anyway? As long as I continue to wear my pseudo mu-mu as the top half of this fashion don't, no one will notice that I am in fact, a hobo. I also have two other pairs of workout pants. One of them is a little tight. The other is a classic capri which shows off my other fashion dilemma-- socks that bulge out of my shoes because I never seem to have any pairs that actually fit.
It took me three days of convincing myself that I needed new workout attire and then reconvincing myself that I'm not going to the gym to make friends, and what I have is fine. And so, the angry hobo in me lost and I made the trek out to the outer excrement of Round Rock to "shop."

I forgot how annoying and frustrating it is to shop for gym clothes when you are a short person. First of all, what happened to the good ol' days when you could go to the store and buy a pair of sweatpants? Sure, they aren't fashion forward, but what does one do in sweatpants? Clean the grout in the bathroom, lay around with a runny nose, go to the gym. This is an essential "feel sorry for me" piece of attire and it has most definitely gone by the wayside! Now what are you faced with when you go to the store? Cute little gym "outfits." I'm sorry, but I never ever see anyone at the gym with the "matching hoodie." I don't know where these people are working out, but the athletic wear section is filled with these items. Next you will be overwhelmed by the selection of $50 workout shirts. I'm at a loss for how to even describe these to you.

Who is wearing these? Generally, I'm surrounded by people in old "paint the house" T-shirts that say things like: "I got a hot carl at Carlsbad Canyon Cafe."
But anyway, I came for pants. Now workout pants typically come in three sizes. Small, Medium, and Large.
It doesn't matter which size I choose, the fit will be exactly the same but the legs will get longer. Because people who work out aren't fat-- just really, really tall.

In most places I can go try on a pair of jeans and if they aren't "petite" they will undoubtedly be a little long on me. But not workout pants. Noooo. Gym pants are insanely "don't try walking in these suckers" too long for me. When I try them on, it makes it look like I am missing a portion of my leg. Fortunately, that isn't too much of a problem, because apparently, the cool, hip thing to do today-- 200-freaking8-- is wear capris!

This is truly awesome because the length problem doesn't go away just because I'm now wearing a size small capri pant-- oh no. Instead of coming mid-calf, they skim just above the bulging socks.

(*Bulging Sock-- a. Condition where the heel of your sock falls somewhere around your ankle, creating an odd sock-bubble-formation when combined with shoes. Most likely the result of accidentally wearing your husbands socks to the gym. b. Condition thereby which an unfortunately endowed male creates a fake crotch bulge by way of sock to be used in much the same way a peacock's plumage display would attract a mate.)

Even if I happened, on the off chance, to be wearing socks that actually fit me, these pants put the whore in horrifying. And there you have it folks. While you can find these pants in a stunning array of polyester, thermal mesh, and just plain cotton, the length options leave much to be desired for a girl who can still wear high heels without making men in the same room extremely uncomfortable.

So, I broke down and went to the "petite" section of the store. I HATE this section because apparently to the retail buyers, "petite" is synonymous with "shrinking old women." It doesn't mean "short" it means "osteoporosis." The clothes on display in the petite section are only meant to be seen on the bodies of little old women who wear plastic sun visors and spend their days at Tuesday Morning. Naturally, in said department's one rack display of "athletic wear" I found a colorful array of sea foam green track suits which boast several features including: flame retardancy, water resistance, and a shiny top coat. For added style, a cotton white racing strip is added on the side of the pants and on the (wait for it) (wait for it) matching hoodie. Annnnd they are capri pants.
Granted, the pants from this department would have the correct mid-calf fit on me-- but I still don't feel I'm ready to dive headlong into sea foam green.

I spent an hour looking for exercise pants and finally... FINALLY found a decent pair. ONE decent pair. It was in the juniors department. I'm not even sure what that means. I know I shopped there when I was in high school. But anways, they are navy blue with a yellow stripe. I wasn't exactly going for a color scheme, black or grey would have been best, but these pants fit and I could walk in them. SUCCESS. Maybe they will be the ones that help me shed 300 pounds. Then I'd probably feel great just wearing gym shorts... and that's a whole other ball game.

And They're Going to Change the World?

2008-02-24T22:52:00.004-06:00

2008. It's an unfortunate year for names when it comes to elections and the race to public office. At least out here it is. I'm going to go for the big guns first and run through our presidential hopefuls.
First off, there is Barack Hussein Obama. I still wake up every morning, stretch, and stumble out of bed thinking "Wow. We're going to elect someone president who is named Hussein Obama. Wow. Too bad there are no good bagel places in Georgetown." Trust me, no one knows better than me that a name is just that, but frankly, I'm no democrat, and more importantly, my maiden name was Anger. Everyone asked me "hehe, are you angry" as if they were the first ones to ever think that one up and you know what? I am angry. Possibly the most angry person in a ten mile area at any given time. So what does that say?
Okay, it probably doesn't say that Obama lives in caves and keeps terrorist blueprints in his underwear drawer but the fact remains that it probably does quietly strike a little chord in the hearts of all Americans that just says a single, barely audible: "yeesh."

Next there is Mike Huckabee. The fact that he did not campaign with banners, buttons, and t-shirts that said: "I Heart Hucakabee" is just a waste of brain power. Huckabee. Huckabeeeeee. Was this a character on a Nick-jr cartoon? Huckabee Hound?

Ron Paul. Don't get me wrong. I am a Ron Paul supporter... even though he has no chance of being elected president. How's that for dedication. But Ron Paul? He has two first names! Like Ricky Bobby! He should be in Nascar or starring in a movie with Will Farrell at the very least.

Hillary Clinton. What's wrong with Hillary Clinton? Don't get me started. But when it comes to her name, the only thing she really has costing her points is the fact that we already know it-- and the woman behind it. Wow, that was a little harsh. Really, I have nothing against her... I just don't want to see her in the Oval Office again. Hopefully this won't mean digging my eyeballs out of my sockets with a melon baller...

I think that about covers the big dogs. Now we come down to the little local election deals. Infact, I am willing to expand this category to not only poll candidates, but to anyone out here with a stupid sign on the side of the road displaying their name. That way I can include Jose Cuervo Real Estate. No embellishment needed.

The following names are littered along the central Texas highways. Enjoy:
Chody
Duty (sorry, in my head it sounds like Doody. Like poopy. I know, I'm five.)
Spanky
Gattis (the name of a pizza conglomerate of sorts... possibly the owner-- could never think of this person and not think "extra mushrooms.")
Acock (again, I am five.)
Thomas Kincaid (shares the name with a man who does commercialized paintings that make old women swoon but are really not good.)
Gore and Kilgore (seriously.)
Crabb
Strange
Daniel Boone
Jimmy Fallon
Stubblefield
and Camille Glasscock.....to name a few.

Either way, be sure to get out there and vote, otherwise you'll have no one to blame when someone you don't like gets into office and your life either continues to suck or starts to suck at a more rapid pace.

Oy with the Poodles Already.

2008-02-20T22:17:00.003-06:00

My grandfather on my mother's side always used to say: "If you don't like dogs, you ain't no damn good." Or... something to that effect. If I said I believed that to be one of the single most definable traits in a person, that would probably raise many an eyebrow. I cannot, however, tell a lie. I'm not saying you have to love dogs to the extreme that I love mine-- in that not everyone has birthday presents for their dogs once a year and dainty leather flower collars... but if you think dogs are "icky" I don't see us buying matching friendship necklaces anytime soon.

Most of my days, as of late, have been filled with taking the dogs out to the dogpark for some excercise. My goal is to show up there at least once without someone pointing out the adorable little meatball or pointing to Maya and saying: "Wow, she's really round." Anyway, its not such a bad time for me either. Its some excercise walking around the grounds and dodging pecans (they are trying to kill me from above as well as the ground) and its also a nice place to sit and read school books while Maya eats sticks and Midas rolls in stink spots.

The park is pretty new, and already there are some regulars. There is another man who brings his two pugs and a lady that has a large poodle and a pug. A man with two Welsh Corgis (Midas hates this guy as much as Kate Winslett, I don't know why) a lady and her jack russell and another lady with a great dane that are often there when we are. One by one, Midas is training each dog to use me as their personal obstacle course. Its really very embarrassing.

When Midas is at the dog park he likes to run in long, wide, loops at top speed. Sometimes he'll do figure 8's but at some point during his laps, he always has to run between my legs. That's where he always ends up. A momma's boy to the core, he just wouldn't be comfortable anywhere else. Dog by dog, he is teaching everyone to do this. I'm not kidding, both the great dane, the grande sized poodle, and at least one other pug have taken to trying to wedge themselves between my legs in the course of their running. Be that as it may, I have yet to actually wipe out and land completely on my ass. This involves a lot of straddling and hopping and I am a little disturbed by the fact that this is viewed as an acceptable thing to dogs. It seems to amuse the other people enough, though. Maybe that has to do with the fact that, Giselle Bundchen, I am not. I could maybe hit 5'3" if heels were involved and at the dogpark, they certainly are not.

Aside from Midas, the one dog that I have to look out for every single time is the big poodle. That thing's head comes up to just below my chest. Can you picture it trying to use my legs as a tunnel? Its not pretty. I don't know what he gets out of it, but I usually end up feeling violated and at a loss for balance.

So anyway. I was just wondering if anyone else has these sorts of problems. No? I didn't think so.

Brad Pitt: Why I Couldn't Give a Shit

2008-02-18T00:40:00.007-06:00

Here it is Sunday and I have had the opportunity to see a few movies this weekend. Inevitably, as I talk about said movies with friends of the female persuasion, the oohing and the ahhing and the gushing will ultimately consume the entire conversation at the very mention of the name: Brad Pitt.
Am I the only one who doesn't find him attractive in the least? Not only Mr. Pitt, but most male actors in general. I don't think any of them are all that great. Not Matt Damon, not Matthew Mc...an..ah...hey... not Ben Affleck... and definately not Brad Pitt. I have never been the type of girl who could get caught up in that fake crush garbage over Ashton Kutcher or Justin Timberlake and I'm glad for that. I remember when I was in high school. I had befriended a girl who was absolutely convinced that Eddie Vedder was her man. The whole wife thing was barely a blemish on the fact that she was going to eventually marry him and have his nasty little babies. I think of that every now and then when a girl flips out over some guy in a movie. I think of my crazed high school friend that most likely carved the various combinations of her and his name into her arm.

Granted most girls who think Brad is just the cutest aren't sending away for locks of his hair in the mail, but I always wondered why it was that I wasn't impressed with the on-air male persona. Is it my lack of imagination or is it that sports heros are much better looking. I think it could be the latter. Anyway, it reminded me of this conversation I had about a year ago. I was at dinner with Mike and our close friend, Wayne. It was just after I had lost a job and was feeling borderline hysterical... but as usual, a good dinner with friends can do wonders. We were all making a list of our top five "celebrity crushes" and all of us were having a really hard time, but it was pretty darn funny. I actually went back and looked at the final list that I had left on a blog for Wayne and in just a year, I think I can make some changes for the better.

It is my hope that this list will make me a little more normal, a little less practical, and a little more... ehhhh. Retarded.
Anyway, here goes:

Jenny's list o' celebrity crushes:
1. Brett Favre-- football star
Seriously. Sports stars are the way to go. Forget those fruity actor boys.

2. Jeff Francoeur-- baseball star
The crazy wife person hanging on him is inconsequentional:

3. Scott Patterson-- baseball star TURNED actor
Now is a good time to point out that this list is not in any specific order:

4. John Cusack-- Actor
I'm talking Better Off Dead Cusack and NOT Being John Malkovich Cusack:

5. Michael Cera-- Actor
This one took some work. I normally go for older men... but for Michael Cera, I am 8 years his senior. Yikes:

6. Mark Ruffalo-- Actor
Since I was edging my way to junior high before Michael Cera could eat solid foods, I think I deserve a back-up. If Mark Ruffallo could just do a few more decent movies and promise to never attempt facial hair again, it would be okay:

There you have it. My five, plus one, list of non-Pitts that are worthy of the girly-girl attention. My absolute favorite, though, is this guy:

So hands off.
Last year's bumped candidates include:
David Schwimmer,

Jake Gylenhall,

Jonathon Crombie,

Andy Roddick,

and JJ Redick.
I could probably be convinced to keep Jonathon Crombie, but the rest are all so yesterday.
By the way that is Hurley with Mike in that picture. She is a neighbors dog and our very good buddy. She has a little crush on Mike as well!

Happy Valentine's Day, Mike!

2008-02-14T21:35:00.005-06:00

How I Met Mike:

1. Where did you meet?
8:00am naked drawing with Vicki Randall

2. What was the first thought that went through your head when you met?
He was just sitting there drawing and wearing a clown nose that he had gotten from F.E.W.S (more naked drawing.) No one mentioned it and I don't think he wanted anyone to either. He just felt like wearing a clown nose. I knew this was the man for me.

3. Do you remember what he/she was wearing?
Do I! He was wearing tear away work out pants a'la Dwayne Johnson, and a white T-shirt that I currently use as pajamas.

4. Where was the first time you kissed this person?
On our first date at my apartment. We don't believe in wasting any time.

5. How did he/she ask you out?
He didn't. He was really impressed that I was able to spell his name right being that I weighed eight pounds and had drank THREE WHOLE wine coolers.

6. Where did you go for your first date?
I ended up getting off of work a LOT later than inteded so we hung out at my apartment.

7.How long did you know this person before you became a couple?
we had a class together but talked online for a few weeks before dating.

8. Has this person ever proposed to you?
It was very romantic. We were at Chicago Uno and waiting forever for our food. He said: "when should we tell our parents that we're getting married?" There wasn't really a need to propose, it was pretty much just a fact.

9. Do you and this person have kids together?
two furry mongoloid children that like to pee in the closet.

10. Have you ever broken the law with this person?
I have nothing to do with his criminal activities.

11. When was the first time you realized that you liked this person?
It was always in the back of my mind, ever since the clown nose thing. But a few Bartels and James later and it came bubbling to the surface. We were immediately compatible.

12. Do you trust this person?
Yes. Though he sometimes takes advantage of that....

13. Do you see your partner in your future?
duh

14. Whats the most expensive thing this person has given you?
several months to sit on my ass and complete my certification.

15. What is one thing he/she does that gets on ur nerves?
I can hear him pick up the phone but it takes him a good 10 count before he says; "hello?"

17. What is the thing you do that gets on his/her nerves?
nagging

18. How long have you been together?
like 6 years

19. Where do you see each other 15 years from now?
on Biggest Loser Couples Edition

Wheezing all the Way

2008-02-13T18:00:00.001-06:00

Wow. I just took the stairs from floor one to floor two.

Who would like to do my eulogy?

Burkhauser-- From Toilet Crotch to Today

2008-02-12T22:04:00.004-06:00

One of the great things about being here in Texas is that Mike's best friends are here. Not only is there MP who became super close to Mike in college and has gone on to BFF status since, but there are his two childhood friends Travis and Jason. Travis came down this weekend for a visit and brought with him a crap load of home movies that he had recompiled, edited, and done whatever else to them that made them loads of fun to watch. With minimal equipment they stayed up all night making commentaries to these old movies. Travis has actually won several film making awards for the footage that he shot, edited, and set to a soundtrack. Its actually really great! He's the kind of guy you want to see succeed because he is truly gifted at what he does-- he just needs some big budget equipment and all the time in the world.
I had the best time listening to their jokes and commentaries, and of course watching the videos.
Mike starred as Pete Burkhauser and Travis, himself, made many cameos with Jason and friends from their high school and people they know today. I LOVE how much fun Mike had seeing Travis and his wife, Lina, this weekend. I love even more that we're ALL here in Texas. Have I mentioned recently that I love Texas?

Anyway, here is a link to the youtube site to watch one of the videos. I'll embed it in this post later, I have to get the url, first. Enjoy!

P.S. I am married to the star-- and its not the guy with the cheeto mustache, either.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=3kaCKOMEW4k

Like Moths to a Flame

2008-01-29T19:49:00.001-06:00

Today I started my first non-online class since Christmas. Its gotten smaller since last time as this is part two of a three part series. There are five students besides myself. The cool thing about that is that we can all stretch out. Each row has three computers at them and there are two sides and four to a side... so 8 rows. Five students. Yep, we each get to have our own space to stretch out our books and maybe put a purse on the chair next to us, etc. Everyone but me. Why? Because crazy hippy woman decides that space is for suckers and sits right next to me.
I was already on the middle computer, so she could have just snuck in and took the coputer to my left, but that wouldn't do. She had to suck and squeeze her way past me and sit to the computer at my right. Maximum touching invloved in this transaction, of course.
As I'm thinking to myself, "I must smell particularly lovely this afternoon" she proceeds to make herself comfortable... in my S--P--A--C--E and flips open her text book, which conveniently covers my mouse. Since I am a gutless turd, I didn't actually say anything, but spent the entire class using the mouse from underneath the cover of her text book, which didn't bother her in the least. It also didn't bother her that her breath smelled like she had been eating out of a dumpster. How in the world do I know what her breath smelled like you ask? Well, Watson, its because every instruction that the professor gave us caused her to lean her face toward mine and watch me write out all the code first.
Annnnd, for the cherry on top, she was NOT getting it. Anything. Everything. "Ooh, Alice, one of these days: bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!" Every simple little action from opening a new file to coding table cell data was a virtual anomoly to this woman. Every move had to be hand traced for her by the teacher. I would really like to know why someone who can't grasp the concept of opening a file on a computer has decided to become a certified webmaster. That would be like me deciding to be a professional glass blower. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm not trying to knock her or fault her for trying, I'm faulting her for invading my S--P--A--C--E when the chair right next to the teacher (a spot that wouldn't involve me sucking in my spare big rig tire and scooting the chair in so the teacher could assist in her every move) was ready and waiting for an ass to call its own.

I've gone over and over in my head what could possibly make me the lucky one to share my very important elbow space, as I have ironically found myself in this situation more than once. (I am especially sensitive to personal space at the gym and feel that unless someone has announced the other treadmills have been doused with anthrax, you shouldn't be using the one right next to me for any reason.)

Looks:
I'm not particularly fetching and I'm also not terribly strange looking. I don't think I would be an inviting option for someone looking on either end of the spectrum. I dress conservatively, I don't own bright colors, my makeup is natural tones, and my new Katie Holmes hairstyle isn't scoring me any extra points either. Nope, there is nothing there that would suggest that I should attract someone looking for a fellow Boo Radley, or a potential life partner.
Me: Wearing tan courderoy pants, brown flip flops, and a 3/4 sleeved boatneck t-shirt. My hair is worn half up in a barrett as it is too short for anything else.
Her: Wearing a floral dress with large pockets. Over a pair of grey trousers. Topped off with a purple cable-knit sweater and wild glasses. Her hair is down to her butt and wild.

Personality:
I have never been told that I look like the kind of person you could just sit down and have a conversation with. Infact, my 6'3", 200lb husband found me intimidating when we first met. I'm not proud of it, but years of working retail has left me jaded and bitter and generally unimpressed with the evolution of the human species.
Me: Loner, rebel.
Her: Hippy, Close talker.

Intelligence:
Lucky for me, I usually am perceived as smart... but the kind of smart person who will make you cry, not hold your hand and convince you that one day you'll be able to tie your shoes all by yourself.
Me: Can read at least an eighth grade level!
Her: May or may not see literacy as an important goal in life.

Aroma: I must have a fabulous musk.
Me: Wearing Dior's Addict II.
Her: Wearing the smell of victory over large rodents at feeding time.

I admit it, I feel bad about being SO cruel toward this lady... but did I mention that this class is FOUR HOURS long? And hey, its all entertainment folks. And its all for you.

10 Skeletons

2008-01-29T00:21:00.000-06:00

I seem to have gotten this a few times now, so I'm taking the hint. People love me. What can I say.

The rules are: Once you've been tagged, you write a blog/bulletin with 10 weird, random things, facts or habits about yourself.

10. I broke my right wrist twice. The second time resulted in surgery and now its made of 50% metal. If certain fabrics (or anything else) brush across my wrist in the right spot, I lose feeling in three fingers and my thumb for several minutes.
9. The scariest thing a doctor has ever asked me was if I had recently swallowed any small metal discs. (I hadn't, it was an error on an x-ray)
8. I recently stole two onions from the grocery store. And it was sort of on purpose.
7. I used to put really... really... obscene amounts of butter oil (as in small animals could drown) on the free popcorn for the people that came to the forget-me-not shows at 7am at the Fenton Cinema. I still think they deserved it.
6. I once survived several months on only beef consumme, twix bars, and green powerade. Which, by the way, should be the next weight loss revolution.
5. When I have had a bad day, the following things almost always give me some sort of comfort: pugs, the opening credits to Gilmore Girls, Snoopy cartoons, a white blanket with more holes than fabric, hot tea, music that reminds me of my parents washing the car in the driveway, and reading lamps with low wattage bulbs.
4. I am allergic to Mr. Bubble.
3. It has always bothered me that I lost a superball in a tree outside my grandmother's house and I never found it. Where the hell could it have gone. I'm fairly certain that there is some sort of vortex there.
2. I sucked my thumb until I was like 25. The dentist always knew. I hated him for that.
1. I once got my lip stuck to an A&W root beer bar. My mother finds this extraordinarily funny and makes sure to bring it up every couple of years. I'm pretty sure the story will be printed on my tombstone.

I Shoplifted Onions.

2008-01-28T23:23:00.000-06:00

I suppose today started as a normal day. I got up. I let the dogs out. I wasted a ridiculous amount of time on the Internet and then I went to the grocery store, loving called "He-y-b Buddy" by my husband and his friend. It is actually called H-E-B. Three letters all pronounced seperately. Not to be confused with Heb. or Heybuddy. Ironically, the town I grew up in had a grocery store called VGs. Also letters only, not to be pronounced... however you would pronounce a V and a G as a word.

Anyway. I hate Heybuddy. It is THEE place to be for the hip and happening of Georgetown. You pick a time of day, any day, its packed. We're talking World War III food rationing in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane prediction packed. I hate it. I try to get the produce out of the way first because that is where everyone likes to cluster. One of the nice things about heybuddy is that it provides a little UPC machine, so if you have a bag of onions, you can set them on the scale, type in the provided code and get a label for your crap so that you can self-checkout: my favorite.

So anyway. I had a hand basket full of mostly produce and I head to the check-outs, where the lines are naturally that of an immigration office or the DMV. I am behind this woman and her son at the self-checkout and she is, of course, having massive problems, which in hindsight, would be the reason why that line was by far the shortest. In her defense, her main "problem" was her retarded son who kept pushing buttons and playing on the bag spinner which is programmed to detect the slightest change in weight to catch you from stealing packs of gum. Every two seconds the machine would sing out: "PLEASE HOLD FOR CASHIER" because this kid was screwing around. The mom would swat at him and giggle at how "funny" he was. After about the 6th time this happened she laughed and swung her head over her shoulder giving me a "isn't he SO cute and funny!" smile. I gave her my "eat shit and die" face and she went back to trying to ring up a zucchini.

Minutes later, when she and her future glue sniffer left the store, I was ready to check out. For those of you who don't believe in Karma, it may be time to start. All those terrible thoughts about what an idiot the lady in front of me was and whether or not I planned to run her over with my car immediately came back and smacked me repeatedly in the face.

The self-checkouts are for 20 items or less.

I assumed that I had 20 items or less, but didn't count. BIG MISTAKE.
I was mostly done with my items when my transaction came to a screeching halt. I was trying to ring up some mushrooms but the computer wanted to know if I was paying with a check and if I had any coupons.

I'm sorry, but if you can pay with a check at the damn thing, having 21 items shouldn't send all computing functions to a grinding halt. It ends at 20. so now, with a line gathering behind me and my brain fumbling to catch up to what has just happened, I felt and looked like a neon colored ass. I hurried to pay for my 20 items and tried to quickly start another transaction for my leftover onions and cilantro. Yes, two items over. Two. Well, in my haste to hurry and swipe my next item and jam it into a bag, I upset the bag spinner which made me then remove all my bags, dig out the rogue cilantro, and place it in a new and uninhibited bag. That's probably when I started to notice the annoyed whispering behind me. I think I was sweating even...
So, I am trying to reconfigure the bag situation when one of the friendly neighborhood heybuddy cashiers comes over to see if I need assistance... or a helmet. I assure him I'm fine and he goes back to his little watch post.
Naturally, at this point, I'm not all right. The label has gotten wet on my onions, no doubt from the constant cold shower that the celery is subjected to in the produce aisle. I can't scan the effing onions. So I hit the button that says; "no barcode" hoping that it will give you a list to choose from or something, but instead it alerts the cashier boy who tells me that "all [I] have to do is lift the onions off the scale."
Really? That's what I have to do? That's going to ring up the onions?
I no longer cared. I paid for my stuff, grabbed my bags, grabbed the onions, and grabbed the handbasket... I never put the onions in my bag... I don't know that I consciously planned to 5 finger discount two onions... but I did.
I am an onion thief. It didn't even completely hit me until writing this that I feel really, really bad about this! But at least I'll have something for confession if I ever go to church again...
Wow, I'm really going to hell. And I'll probably be an onion farmer. This sucks.

In case anyone still had any reason to believe that it was safe for me to be in a store, let me go on:
Last weekendish Mike and I were at Sam's Club and they had this sliced pineapple there. We decided that it would be great for juicing and I reached over to get a package and that's when it happened.
My motor skills failed me.
The lid, which was not securely fastened, shifted ever so slightly, to which I overcompensated and somehow, beyond any reasonable comprehension of mine, the pineapple launched out of my hands and took flight, resulting the only way it possibly could: crash landing.

What would a situation like this be if it didn't have an audience. Shocked old people looked at me incredulously as the temperature in my face and ears shot up 80 degrees. Mike, who would later tell me that he saw the whole experience in slow motion, was doing a hearty pirate laugh and thankfully helping me pick up the naked, shivering pineapple chunks who found themselves so unexpectedly on the filthy floor at Sam's Club. I barked at Mike, Mr. Funny, to guard the spill while I found a government funded disaster relief organization.
I sought out the very first employee that I could and confessed my crime. I had catapulted a pineapple through their produce section and it was now in need of a mop. I was really sorry. And really stupid. And really sorry.
The employee, who was obviously going for some sort of employee of the month award, told me to tell "that guy" and pointed to a man working over in the butcher's hut. He was wearing a bloody white lab coat. This didn't seem to me like the man for the job, but who was I to be making these sort of assumptions, I can't even hold a container of pineapple.
So I told him.
He told me to tell "her" and pointed to someone handing out samples.
This little game went on and on and on until I finally ended back up at the sample lady who had been replaced by TWO sample ladies doling out shellfish in dixie cups. Mmmm. I once again recanted my tale... which is fun because I come out looking so good in it. The first girl informed me in a serious of "noises" that she didn't speak or understand English and if I would just take her little cup o' shrimp, her day would be much brighter.

SUPER.

The second girl told me to tell the butcher man.

I realize that this whole situation is my fault and mine alone, however, in cartoons, this is the point where steam comes out of your ears or you develop a comical tick.
I took a deep breath and without pausing for any sort of response yelled: "I have already told NINE different people and not ONE of you can be bothered to a.) clean it up, b.) find someone whom YOU KNOW can clean it up, or c.) hand me a mop. It is my opinion that I have officially gone above and beyond the call of duty for a consumer and I don't care what happens, have fun with your shellfish and avoid breaking a hip in the fruit aisle!"

After all that, we still haven't made any juice with the pineapple and now I am an onion thief.

Death Proof Saturday and Sherbet.

2008-01-27T01:20:00.001-06:00

Tonight we made the trek out to downtown Austin for dinner at the ever popular Guerros from the movie Death Proof.

Yep, that would have been us standing there by that "No Parking" sign. Only instead of finding Stuntman Mike and his death proof car, there were space heaters and Mexicans selling girl scout cookies.

It was kind of exciting to be there as we recognized things from the movie and it was completely packed. We didn't have to wait too long before getting a table and the world's worst waiter.
Actually, let me back up for a second to make sure you can soak in every last detail of this excursion.
First off, we were told that the wait for a table would be a minimum of 45 minutes, which I am thinking may have been a scare tactic because we only waited twenty minutes at the most. At the time I was glad that we didn't decide to throw in the towel and go across the street to "Home Slice" pizza. Since we thought we would be waiting, Julie asked if I wanted to get a drink. So we tried to make our way over to the bar, but we had only gotten a few steps inside when I told her that it was NOT worth the trouble to get through the crowd. As I said this, some red headed psycho girl spun around like she was ready to throw her drink in my face and tells her friend: "Did you hear what she said?!" To which I responded to Julie that I would be fine without a drink and went back to wait outside as I apparently offended this drunk girl by not wanting to shove people to get to the bar where I would order a Dr. Pepper.
Outside was just as jammed as inside... but mainly because a group of 30 middle aged idiots wanted to stand around on the street infront of the restuarant with their doggy bags and see how much of a fire hazard they could cause.
We were then seated by a man, who as far as I can tell, had no penis. I say this because the guy was wearing the TIGHTEST jeans I have ever seen and there was NOTHING getting in his way. They weren't even a flattering tight kind of jeans, they were making it look like his legs couldn't possibly support the weight of his torso and head. And don't even get me started on this new trend where some men think its cool to dress like girls (tight pants, mascara, girly haircuts...) Its really very... gross.
Our waiter on the other hand, was all man and all ours. He was a little dirty. Tattoo ridden. He dropped the glasses of water on our table as if we offended him, right away sending Julie into a consumer rage. He finally showed up to take our actual drink orders and all we got for the whole table was a mixed drink for Pedro, and a Dr. Pepper for me.

Pedro got his mixed drink pretty quick but my Dr. Pepper was MIA for quite awhile.
Whenever the guy asked if we needed anything he would actually walk away before we could answer!!!! I'm not even exaggerating.
But the best, BEST part of this dinner was the food itself. Tastewise, it didn't suck. But that's the best I'm giving it.
We ordered nachos for an appetizer to split among the four of us. I want you to take this moment and ask you to conjure up in your brain an image of what nachos look like. Now let me tell you what we got.
We got three... count 'em, THREE, round chips with refried beans and cheese on them. I will point out, in fairness, that we didn't read the description of the nachos, we just assumed we knew what we were getting. Ooops.
I guess everything else was all right. The only other complaint I have is centered around my meal, I think everyone elses' went okay. I like to consider myself to be someone who isn't picky. I don't special order things. I don't ask for extra this or none of that, so when I ordered their famous tacos (burritos) and the waiter asked me if I wanted lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and sour cream, I said: "sure, that's fine."
To which he replied: "Sour cream?" and I said; "Um... yeah. That'll be good."
To my utter delight, I was greeted with a sour cream burrito. There was a teaspoon of meat and two ice cream scoop fulls of sour cream and that's it. It was pretty much the most disgusting thing I have experienced in my 27 years of being able to chew solid food. I wiped ALL the sour cream off and picked at the burrito thing a little but ultimately didn't eat it and still didn't complain. Not even when he asked to take our plates for us and then left empty handed before we could answer.

Despite dinner's obvious downside, we actually had a really good time and went back to the Pedro's to watch Fight Club. The Mikes had wanted to make some drinks so we had planned to stop at a liquor store, but to our surprise, every liquor store in the tri-county area was closed and it wasn't even 9:30. Again, not a drinker, but doesn't that seem like you're alienating some of your best clientele as a liquor purveyor? Do the drunks really come rolling in at 3:30pm or something? I swear to God, Texas is worth than Florida in some respects. It has all the quirks of living in death's waiting room, minus the Jeopardy marathons.

Just when I thought the night was over and nothing else could go wrong, I discovered two things.
1.) Strawberry Sherbert is nearly impossible to find. They have orange, lime, and rainbow. Hell, they even have pineapple and lifesave flavor, but strawberry? Nooooo.
2.) Did you know its called SHERBET? I have been calling it SHER-BERT! As in SHER-BERT and SHER-ERNIE. The entire fabric of my existence has unravelled. Its very sad. And yes, I do feel that picture of the Dr. Pepper can deserves that much space.

200 Foot Pole.

2008-01-22T23:33:00.001-06:00

Yesterday Mike and I were driving behind one of those REEEALLLY annoying trucks that make a 1/3assed attempt (you know, less than a half-assed attempt) to cover the top of their rolling death machines. The fun thing about these portable crap haulers, is that whatever comes rolling out of it is always a surprise. It could just be sticks and branches, papers, coffee cups or trash, or it could be giant rocks. Either way, its a roll of the dice as to whether your windsheild will be smashed or you'll die. I must not be the only person who feels this way, as the truck, rather than fixing the Saran wrap loosely wrapped around the top to keep its contents from causing a 79 car pile up behind it, had a warning on the back which read:

WARNING:
STAY AT LEAST 200 FEET BACK. NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WINDSHIELD DAMAGE

I'm sorry, but yes, you are responsible for windshield damage, you ass knob! Can you imagine what would happen on I-35 if when reading that sign we had slammed on our breaks waited four minutes for the thing to get 200 feet in front of us and then continued on at 15 miles an hour to match its pace and thus not exceed the 200 foot rule of responsibility?
Well, I will tell you what would happen. Traffic would back up from Georgetown, Texas to EGYPT. Yes, cars would literally stretch across oceans, that is how insane the traffic would get.

Is that really all it takes, some stupid sign? Well, if that's the case, I'm running out tomorrow and getting a sign for my back windsheild that says:

WARNING:
STAY AT LEAST 200 FEET BACK. NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR COLLISIONS.

I figure if I have a nice 200 foot buffer on all sides of me, I won't have to concern myself with any sort of traffic laws. And should some turkey think that its okay to drive any closer to me, any sort of infraction would be rendered his fault as I am clearly not responsible.

I think this is a great idea, this 200 foot warning buffer. I recommend you all do the same.

WARNING:
I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR OFFENDING ANYONE WHO READS THIS BLOG. PLEASE STAY AT LEAST 200 FEET AWAY FROM YOUR COMPUTER.

Up All Night

2008-01-17T02:13:00.000-06:00

Its been almost a month and I think I am mostly better. One lingering problem is my inability to sleep at night. I have never in my life had insomnia, but lately, I just can't fall alseep until its time to get up. Its driving me insane.

Tonight, I thought I may have had the problem licked-- I was asleep by 11:30pm, however, awake again at 12:57. I tried to fight it, but by 1:36am, I was wide awake as Midas began a set of marathon sneezing. That's it. I'm awake. I laid there and thought about how hungry I was since the whole house seems to be infused with a chili smell from dinner. I tried turning on my side and Maya viewed this as an invitation to come take over my pillow. When I tried to turn back, she was already in the lock and load mindset where she had to lick and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. I spent the next several minutes sheilding my face, pushing her away, trying to hide under the covers, but pugs are relentless lickers. Finally I managed to twist myself into a position where my hand was over my face and she was able to just lick my hand until there was no skin left-- a pleasant alternative to her jamming her tongue into a nostril.

Once the 20 minute lick fest had ended, I suddenly found myself obsessing over some dry skin on my leg. Then biting at my fingernails. Then I was thirsty.

A shameful amount of potato sticks and 7-up later, here I am on the internet at 2:15 in the morning. I'm actually looking forward to this three-day weekend, despite the fact that we have nothing planned because I'll have someone to force me out of bed early and hopefully get over this weird sleeping thing. I miss sleep. I miss dreams about Marge Simpson and Real Estate Carnies. I miss daylight. How did this happen anyway?

Ohhh yeah... a month of not being able to breathe. Hooray sick.

In other, better, news: Maya had her pre-screening today to become a Therapy Dog. Her first class will be February 20th in Houston. I think Maya will be an amazing therapy dog. Everyone who meets her falls in love with her. People have very strong reactions to how little and cute and sweet she is. I really think she would brighten people's days-- especially when there is very little to look forward to in their lives. Despite the manic licking, she definately has a calming effect!

My only reservation is that I will have to take her out to hospitals and nursing homes without Midas and he's going to go crazy. I feel really bad about the fact that he's going to feel neglected, knowing that he lives for "rides in the car" but he could never be a therapy dog. He doesn't love to be cuddled by all people. He barks incessantly at certain people (only certain people) and while I love him like crazy-- he's not everyone's cup of tea.

Maya on the hand is perfect. She loves everyone. She loves to be pet and squeezed and she's more than at home in a lap. Hopefully she'll do some good for someone. Who knows.

Here is a link to Therapy Pet Pals of Austin. I don't know if it will show up as a hyperlink, though, as Blogger has a love-hate relationship with HTML code.... meaning that it hates it. Conventional computer coding means nothing to this website.

http://www.therapypetpals.org/photos.htm

Woe is Me.

2008-01-09T17:50:00.000-06:00

I don't know how 2008 could do this to me. I waited for SO LONG to be rid of that stinky 2007, but thus far, '08 has been an upset.
I'm ready to throw in the towel already and wait for the crap to hit the fan. So far this year, I have been sick EVERY SINGLE DAY. Today, on day 18 of my unending illness, I started to feel better-- so I got up... walked out to the living room and decided to break a toe on our plastic wicker furniture.

At this point I'm just trying to mentally prepare for bad news. Tomorrow someone is coming to look at the house. I was pretty convinced that we'd be here for awhile, so that means it will probably sell. The post office doesn't have a limit on how many change of addresses one can have, right?
I'm also going to the doctor for day 19 of my unending illness. It will probably sound something like this:
Dr: "Are you still feeling sick."
Me: "A little, but I think I'm actually getting better."
Dr: "And you have medicine... and you've been to the hospital... so why are you here?"
Me: "Well, because I still wasn't getting better so I made the appointment... but then by the time I started to feel better we had already entered into the realm of being charged anyway for not keeping the appointment... so... here I am."
Dr: "O-kay."
Me: "Yep.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................so...............................................................................................................................................................had a good Christmas?"

My class sucks. Lesson learned, not taking an online class here again. I've taken online classes before, but this class, as far as I can tell, is literally reading some crap online. No tests. No homework. No grades maybe? Naturally, my compiler isn't working. I'm not sure what is wrong with it. Yes, I can download a new one, but that's not even the point. At least, I can sit here with a snot rag jammed up my nose, glasses on, and drinking cranberry juice... the perfect picture of what I thought a computer programmer should look like. And at least I can say I was sick for almost a month and lost 16 pounds.
And at least Cambpell's still makes Minestrone soup.
That's something.

My New Life

2008-01-08T17:06:00.000-06:00

Its five in the afternoon-- my new wake up time.
This cold has changed and or ruined my life. I now sleep all day and am awake all night sleepily staring at the ceiling. Not to say that I don't have a new routine to adjust to, because I do have that. Exciting as it may be. I've swapped in any normal 9-5 activities for sleeping. Then around 5pm when I stumble (yes, stumble as if I have been drinking profusely) out of bed I am hit with an immediate wave of guilt that my poor dogs who have been champion sleeping by my side, haven't seen a fire hydrant yet today. So, I feel around on my "table O' Snot rags" for my glasses and bring them outside, where they spend their few happy moments.
In the meantime, I check my messages, as I have undoubtedly slept through several. Then onto email and often times this week from there I would take more pills, more nasal spray, and make more hot tea and go back to bed.

The nightime routine is the BEST, though. I'll watch late night TV until it feels like I SHOULD be tired and then fall into the "routine."

Adjust pillows
Contort around dogs who have already made themselves comfortable.
Sit up.
Blow nose.
Lay back down.
Check clock.
Sit back up.
Make hot tea.
Drink tea.
Back to bed.
Adjust pillows.
Stare at ceiling.
Try to think of something to think about.
Sit up.
Blow nose.
Nasal spray.
Blow nose.
Big sigh.
Adjust pillows.
Add a pillow.
**Commence snoring husband**
Sit up.
Go to kitchen and locate ear plugs.
Back to bed.
Ear plugs.
Thirsty.
Water.
Back to bed.
Oh man-- take out contacts.
Back to bed.
Earplugs in place.
Pillows... there.
Dogs... steaming
Chapstick.
Can't find the chapstick.
Searching...
Searching...
Searching...
There it is.
Apply heavy amounts of chapstick to already nasty lips.
There's Maya! Chapstick attracts dog 2 and shielding face from licking begins.
Check clock.
Decide to see what's on TV. Again.
Sit up.
Maya and I both watch TV in upright position.
Begin Cycle again.

I do not like my new life.

Cheese Pins and Lies

2008-01-04T22:41:00.000-06:00

Linens N Things is synonymous with the selling of overpriced gizmoish crap that, lets face it, no one really needs. I have always been amazed at the number of people that will gawk open mouthed at the miraculous invention of a toothpaste squeezer. One such invention proudly displayed in impulse alley currently is the cheese pin.Yes, the cheese pin promises to take care of all of your cheese cutting needs.

What in the HELL is a cheese pin you ask? It is a knob of plastic that you jam into a piece of cheese. You then hold the knob/pin whilst "cutting the cheese" (no pun intended) and this is supposed to alleviate the stress that one would normally feel about slicing cheese sans knob.

Its honestly, ridiculous... yet people think they need it. The whole cheese pin scenario has become a metaphor for my working existence at Linens and Crap. Its honestly, ridiculous and I really don't need it.

Since recovering from my cold, I have since developed any number of chronic and infectious lung conditions that could be any of the following:
Bronchitis
Pneumonia
Common Cold... from hell
Flu
Typhoid Fever
Malaria
Amoebic Dysentery
the baldness gene
or
the Bubonic Plague.

I don't know what the hell is going on with my physical health, all I know is that each time I go into work at Linens and Germs, I come home sicker than I was before I left the house that day. Whatever is causing the endless snot stream at the back of my throat is showing no end in sight. I think its time to cleanse myself of the bacterial culture of my job.

But back to the Cheese pins. Its really all about the stupid cheese pins. Do you know what cheese pins really are? They are lies. Cheese lies. Assuming that you do actually find yourself in a position where you are regularly slicing small to medium hunks of cheese, do you really think this cheese pin will help you? Sure, you'll have something to hold on to, but the mere existence of this thing makes it harder to cut. I'm not exaggerating, there is a picture on the box that shows all of four slices of cheese being cut successfully and then the knife runs into said cheese pin.
Soooo typical that such a product would be found at the counter of Linens and Lies.

Here are some of the more recent lies that have disrupted my life, courtesy of my "job."
1. I told them that my last day of work there would be the 28th. My reasoning was that I wanted time to myself before school began again to brush up on everything before I forgot what I already learned. I also didn't want to begin the new year employed by them because now I'll have four days of pay stubs to worry about on next years taxes. Anyhow, I was sick for three days during that time and when I came back I was on the schedule the whole next week. As I tried to explain that I had planned to make the 28th my last day, I was told by the scheduling manager that HE was told that I felt so bad for calling in sick that I wanted to "make it up to them."
How can you argue with that, right? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that even if someone had lied and said that-- I had been on the old schedule for the 29th anyway. So clearly, they KNEW I was a push over and didn't care.
So now, I have worked the last five days straight, without a break, and sicker than I have been yet because I would be "screwing over the whole company" by calling out.

Well. I am scheduled to work a good ten hour shift tomorrow, but since we are in such DIRE need of employees and they aren't bothering to interview the people that have been parading through with applications, I think this officially falls under the jurisdiction of: "Not my problem."
So tonight was my last.

One more fun little Linens n Lies antectdote is in regards to closing. One of the other girls I workED with asked the manager if we could be out by ten if we made sure to get done with all the projects, etc. She had to be somewhere. The manager responded that they weren't allowed to let the employees go before ten thirty.

Okay, let me break this one down for you so that we can all see what a blatant lie it is:
1. The schedule had hours figured until ten o'clock. If it was for sure going to be ten thirty that we were all there, they would have had to figure that into the hours.
2. The lights automatically shut off just after ten. They have to manually be turned back on.
3. All of the other managers that don't hate their home life manage to let us go before ten thirty.
4. What company in their right mind would say; "Well... the store has been closed for an hour... and there isn't anything for anyone to do... but lets all just take a seat and play duck, duck, goose until the clock reaches 10:30. It'll be good for your paychecks!"
LIES!

Finally, to anyone fool enough to think they actually need a cheese pin in their lives, the sad truth of the matter is, that pretty soon you will realize you were better paying an extra $3.00 for a Julienne slicer and the retarded cheese pin will be tossed to the back of the drawer, forgotten until the next garage sale.

Like the cheese pin, Linens and Things has been tossed into a forgotten drawer in the back of my mind, only to be drudged out again years from now when I'll need therapy to rid my mental health of the woes that I now feel physically.

Thanks for the ride, Linens and Crap. It couldn't have sucked more.

Zestfully Seeking Towels.

2007-12-30T19:53:00.001-06:00

Around 3:30 in the morning... yesterday... I had an epiphany. I realized that I had to... HAD TO have one of those big towels from the old 1980s Zest soap commercials. You know the ones...

"You're not fully clean unless you're ZESTFULLY clean!" sang whilst a person whom I assume is "zestfully clean" demurely snaps a towel across their more scantily clad parts which testifies to this very fact.

How great would life be if I owned one of those towels.

So I wrote a letter to Proctor and Gamble:

Dear Sir or Madame,
It has come to my attention that my purpose in life is to infact, own a Zest towel as shown in your 1980's commercials. I too, hope to be zestfully clean. Seriously, I would appreciate any assistance in locating said towel for immediate purchase.
Good day,
J. Pavlovich

Survey Says...

2007-12-29T19:27:00.000-06:00

1. Will you be looking for a new job in 2008?
Why yes! At some point I do plan to be something other than an unemployed housewife or minimum wage customer service bufoon at the local Linen's and Shit.

2. Will you be looking for a new relationship?
The only new relationship I could be in the market for would be a third pug. His name will be Ruhne and he'll be a rescue... and I haven't completely convinced Mike that his existence in our house is completely relavent yet.... I may be baking a lot soon....

3. New house?
Probably not this year since I still have school to finish up-- but the idea is always there. Either way, I'm sure we'll be hoarding our pennies like little crazed squirrels.

4. What will you do differently in 08?
Ahhhh. A very deep question. Lets take a look at a few things that went awry in '07 before answering that one.
1. I won't work for a place that clearly has no work coming in the door-- yet assures me that its coming. Really. Soon. They swear.
2. I will get a flu shot and possibly develop a neurotic hand washing complex.
3. I will avoid casinos.
4. I will not have roomates in any form that are not bound to me by the laws of Holy Matrimony, or dependent upon me to fill little silver bowls with food and water each day.
5. I will not live in an apartment. At least not one in Florida. At least not one in the parking lot of a Wendy's and at least not one with rent that would far outweigh a mortgage.
6. I will suffer through the next kidney stone with dignity, huddled on the floor of my bathroom in tears. Who needs hospital bills.
7. I will finish my schooling and continue forward on the old pay scale-- on a path that does not involve FCATs, state standards, adoption processes, or the molding of children's minds in any way, shape, or form.
8. I will suck it up and hire movers.
9. I will never again eat breakfast at Burger King.
10. I will no longer take anti-anxiety medication when there are world's of furry pugs just waiting to calm me down with their weird little alien noises.

5. New Years resolution?
For once I can say that I plan to continue in the direction I am headed. It appears to be working so far.

6. What will you not be doing in 08?
Customer Service.

7. Any trips planned?
I am going to Maine for my second anniversary. Let me just tell you that the Maine Office of Tourism-- not a bunch of A students.

8. Wedding plans?
I plan to not only be at my cousin's wedding in September, but to get them a kick ass gift.

9. Major thing on your calendar?
Italian phrases and cultural trivia. I am that boring, yes.

10. What cant you wait for?
My trip to Maine and finishing my certification.

11. What would you like to see happen differently?
I really need to get back to my swimming before I forget how, sink, and die.

12. What about yourself will you be changing?
I probably have a few more bad haircuts in store for me before my hair grows out last year's inappropriate color choices.

13. What happened in 07 that you didn't think would ever happen?
Wow. I don't even know where to begin with that one. It would have to probably be the time that I got fired for "not having work to do" at a job that "wasn't getting work in at the moment." That was one for the ol' scrapbook. This photo is actually a screen capture for their website. Feel free to give me the credit for the "Dogs" book as I did that for another company and they had nothing to do with it. If they weren't out of business now, I would be more upset.

14. Will you be nicer to the people you care about?
I think you will find that I am nice enough. Loser.

15. Will you dress differently this year than you did in 07?
Well, shucks. As my reigning status of unemployment begins again in the coming weeks, I do believe that shopping at Wal-Mart will be in my future. So no.

16. Will you start or quit drinking?
I'm currently drinking orange juice. I plan to finish it soon.

17. Will you better your relationship with your family?
We are currently in a competition to see who can go the longest without visiting who.

18. Will you do charity work?
most likely

19. Will you go to the bars?
Not on purpose.

20. Will you be nice to people you don't know?
I currently view people I don't know as germ receptacles-- one of which has given me a cold. This doesn't bode well for the niceness. Thanks for asking, though.

21. Do you expect '08 to be a good year for you?
I want so badly for it to NOT suck as bad as last year that now I'll probably obsess over it and every little thing that goes wrong will be catastrophic to my continued will to live.

22. How much did you change from this time last year til now?
I don't know that I personally have changed, but my life has and its a lot better now.

23. Do you plan on having a child?
having a child do what?

24. Will you still be friends with the same people you are friends with now?
I would imagine so. Otherwise, I have a lot of board games that would go to waste.

25. Major lifestyle changes?
I will be certified in several areas of my career that will enable me to earn far more money than you. I'll have Robin Leach tell you the rest.

26. Will you be moving?
I am living in a house that is for sale, so I suppose that is a possibility.

27. What will you make sure will not happen on '08 that did in '07?
I don't know, pick someting.

28. What are your New Years Eve plans?
I have really never liked New Years for some reason. This whole time of year sucks. All that Christmas anticipation is gone and it feels like you have nothing to look forward too. I used to get Chinese food with my mom... but since moving away I usually stay home with my husband, drink hot chocolate, and pout. It suits me well.

29. Will you have someone to kiss at midnight?
chances are, I'll be asleep at midnight, dreaming that I don't act like I'm 78 years old.

30. One wish for 08?
I have a few but right now, my greatest wish is to spread survey joy to all of cyberspace.

The Endless Road to Wellness

2007-12-29T05:32:00.000-06:00

Its one thing to be sick. Its a WHOLE other ball game when you start to get better. With my sleeping cycle bitterly out of whack, I finally turned the television off at about 3:35am-- approximately 12 hours from the time in which I woke up this morning... ehhh... afternoon. I wasn't tired yet. I could breathe. I could breatheeeee..... faint smells could be noticed. I laid there thinking about how the room smelled like sick. The sheets on the bed were new but felt dirty. I smelled dirty laundry... stacks of dishes, stinky dogs. Very faint smells. I felt dirty. The "I've been wearing pajamas and glasses for three days" dirty, even though I had just showered earlier. I wondered if I would still wake up tomorrow with such a cleaning initiative.
Either way, it was 4:30 in the morning and I had already been lying awake for an hour. I HAD to sleep.
Dogs in place toasting feet and cuddled adoringly at my side.
Pillows in place, propped up incase the snots came back, yet still comfortable.
Hot.
Hot, hot, hot.

I got up and stumbled into the hall and checked the thermostat. 81. Ahhh. This is much cooler than the balmy 85 that Mike had cranked it up to earlier. I'm beginning to wonder if he doesn't possibly have malaria or typhoid fever or something. Its obviously much more traumatic than a cold...

I turned the temperature down. Got some water.
Back to bed.
Dogs in place.
Pillows in place.
Shorts have replaced pajama pants.
Ahhhh. Time to sleep.

Then the snoring begins. This is amazing to me as this man I married doesn't ever snore if the TV is on. Its the moment that I turn off the TV that he begins his communication with the dead. I can't leave on the tv because I need quiet!
I laid there wondering if it was possible that I could just somehow will myself to shut it out.

Nope.

5:00am

I am stumbling through the dark yet again to find the earplugs I just bought.
Back to bed.
Dogs in place.
Pillows in place.
Shorts replacing pants.
Earplugs jammed into skull.

Ready to sleep now. Silence.
Then slowly, the snoring sound begins to grow again. I have never, never heard him snore through ear plugs before.
I repositioned them... as if it would make a difference.

Finally, I yanked one out of my ear and turned on my side for a better look. Was this really my husband, or had a giant Yak slipped into my bedroom and decided to give birth on his side of the bed?

Step one. Peal the pillow from his face. Clearly he can't breathe, yet he has a pillow jammed up his nostrils. Step two shake gently.
"Um, excuse me, would you like some nasal spray? Cold Medicine? A Breathe Right Strip?"

No, of course not. What was I thinking.

I hope that there is no real danger of brain damage here as he is clearly not getting (and happy about it) oxygen.

5:30. I am envisioning lights turning on in neighborhood houses as now even the dogs are giving him mournful glances. I've known garbage trucks to make less noise.

There is no chance I'm sleeping. At all. EVER. With or without earplugs.
With or without pants and an indoor temperature that would rival a Jamaican beach.

So I got up to take a shower. Next I think I'll do some laundry and some dishes. I don't have to worry about waking him, as he can apparently sleep through anything.

Tomorrow night, I'm trying duct tape and as I have been writing this, the dogs have relocated OUT of the bedroom.
Thank you and Good night.

2007, Year of the Devil

2007-12-25T16:12:00.000-06:00

With only days left of what is probably one of the crappiest years yet to date in my existence, 2007 apparently felt it had to deliver a final low blow.

Yes, it is Christmas and I am sick as a dog. Sure, this was probably a present from Linen's and Things, but still, I'm pretty sure that 2007 had its grubby paws on that one somewhere.

I have to say that I am really looking forward to the END of this miserable year-- but just so I can say it hasn't beat me, here is a top ten list of things that have made 2007 good.

10. My birthday was pretty good! I got to go home and see my family, I got some pretty sweet loot, and I'm yet another year older!
9. Washington DC-- I did something this year!
8. Element. That was a pretty fun job and I met some really great people.
7. Whilst working at Element I was introduced to reality TV; The Bachelor, Beauty and the Geek and America's Next Top Model.
6. Mike no longer works at EA. It was hard giving up texturing the asses of football players to make Killer Kroc.
5. Midas learned to say: "Ice Cream." Sort of.
4. El Charros changed our pre-Texas lives. Delicious burritos with no waiting!
3. We got an Ab-Lounger! Now, if I could just find my abs... we'd be all set.
2. We got to trade in Fridays at Altamont for Fridays at the Alamo Drafthouse, movie nights, Arnold Nights, and Scattegories with Mike Pedro. Life improved ten-fold.
1. We moved to Texas! I am officially a Texan, LOVE it here.

Take that '07.

Hang Up the Chick Habbit

2007-12-21T15:33:00.001-06:00

Incase I hadn't remembered to thank my lucky stars, lately, that I turned tail and ran from a "would-be" career in Journalism, I was reminded yet again how many are employed with similar lack-luster "skills." I made the stupid mistake of clicking on an article off of the site msn.com, famous for providing paychecks to people who likely scribble out their articles while on the toilet. They're really that bad and many of them actually leave an aftertaste of crap in the mouth.

One such piece of cyber-trash was what I thought might be a kitchy or humorous take on decoding your potential partner by what their favorite Christmas movie is. It sounded cute, I was bored... yada, yada, yada....

Basically, it was a girl and a guy each giving their opinions about someone of the opposite sex whose favorite Christmas movie was: _______.
Whoever the girl was had pretty positive things to say about just about every holiday persona. It lacked any vision, it wasn't funny and read like a fortune cookie from Phat Ho Super Buffet, but it wasn't mean spirited. The male counterpart of this article, however, seemed to find no woman at all that was worthy of being in the same room as him.

So, ladies. Here is a quick rundown, according to "Ian" why you are aren't a worthwhile person because of your holiday Christmas movie selections:

1. A Charlie Brown Christmas:
This makes you Goth and Existential, except when you're making pigpen smoke clouds dancing.
2. A Christmas Story
You're corny. But Cool... in an okay way. That was almost a compliment.
3. Bad Santa
You have a negative outlook on life and enjoy Chinese take-out.
4. The Grinch
You are stuck in a rut... you also may be... get this... grinchy.
5. Its a Wonderful Life
You're a deep thinker, about all the sad crap that happens.
6. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
You're pretty much an idiot.
7. Santa Clause is Coming to Town
Once again, you are a goth chick.

So basically, Christmas tidings aside, if you are single, you should be a one dimmensional person who is happy--- but not too happy. That's how you'll get a man these days. I won't even touch on the whole subject of looks, weight, boobs, or intelligence.

I don't want to sound overly feminist, because I understand that men need some sort of outlet for all the millions of ridiculous emails that circle around the internet like the plague about leaving the toilet seat up. Hey, it annoys me too, but as far as feminism goes, I am certainly becoming more of one the more that hip hop takes the youth of America by storm.

Its not that we're reverting back to pre-1920s propaganda and social norms where women experienced a lower level on society's ladder of existence... its actually pretty much the opposite, and its perpetuated by women themselves. You can only blame men so much for what's happened.
Women can now work any job. Infact, women are expected to work. Many women now carry the men.
Anyway, I think that a lot of crap that women deal with today owes a great big thanks to a culture of people who are churning out this music:

There seems to be alot of mothe fuckers blind to the fact
That a ho is gonna be just that
And this type of ignorance is the very
Reason why so many niggas in the goddamned cemetary
Inteligence is on call
You don’t treat a ho like a queen who behaves lika a dog
Are you the type who wont put a ho in front of a trigger
Then you’re a ho assed nigga
Goddamned hound
Pound for pound
You knew the ho when she was fucking the whole town
She fucked you and gave your buddies a blow
But your trick ass fell in love with the ho
Tried to change her make her be an angel
You keep putting your damn life in danger
Fronting niggas about that slutty ass trifling crow
You gotta let e ho be a ho

Shes a ho, d how the fuck you know
Every time I see the ho she’s with a new negro
Shes the type of ho thats bound
To wear shorts up her ass when your friends come around
Shes the kinda ho thatll make you cry
The kinda ho you have to call before you come by
So why do you wanna kill when she says no more
You ain’t the first to be dumped by a goddamned whore
Crazy mother fuckers fighting over hoes
Stealing for their asses and jumping out of windows
If a ho wants out I let her sinky ass go
Cos ima let a ho be a ho

*** It gets worse, but I'm gonna try to keep it a little cleaner for the kiddies.

This Christmas classic brought to you by Geto Boys and the Letter "G"

Encore!

2007-12-17T14:31:00.000-06:00

Someone actually asked me to repost this-- how flattering. So this was Christmas for me, I think... two years ago? Anyway, enjoy.

Was it put your hands in the air where I can see 'em... or was it get down and cover your head? I tried to remember what it is that people want you to do on TV when they are robbing banks as I slowly come to realize that the Hallmark in which I am standing in line is not actually being robbed at gunpoint. As the poor cashier finishes putting my little bracelet charm in a box a man had burst through the door, unshaven and wearing dark glasses and a wool hat (ahem, FLORIDA.) He went straight for the counter where I was standing and without asking just blurted out the words: "MUSIC BOX. " I didn't know if this was code for "give me all your money" or something else, just because of the way he said it. The cashier, who has not allowed her enormous holiday smile to fade in the least only blinks her eyes and says: "I'm sorry, sir... we're out." At this he pounded his fist on the counter, leaned in a little as if to stare straight into her soul to see if she was infact telling the truth, and the storms off.Merry Christmas.So this is where I begin my long awaited rant regarding holiday shoppers and customers in general. Should the situation have been differnt and it was me looking for the music box, I would have taken the time to wait my turn and THEN ask the cashier the complete sentence "Excuse me, can you please tell me where I could find a music box?" THEN, if she said they were out I would say: "Okay. Thank you." Disappointed as I may be I am never rude to cashiers. NEVER. I may go outside and scream "FUCK!" but I don't treat cashiers like that ever.That story aside, I would now like to launch into my list of holiday shopping faux paus which I may follow with a musical number. I haven't decided yet.

1. Why is it that it seems like I am the ONLY person who steps aside when others are coming. This sounds so petty, but its true! I seem to be bobbing and weaving through a maze of shoppers and I'm the only one who has strayed from my path by so much as an inch! If I did the same thing, I would plow people right over and I am at a point where I am entertaining that very thought. See, when you are Christmas shopping here in Millenia, you find your usual crowd of house wives in $500.00 Bebe Sport, bejeweled tracksuits and $300 heels from Charles David, stollers, old people, people in motorized transportation devices and your scattering of "normal" people. I gaurantee that if I set my mind to it and I don't step aside for them, I would knock them on their designer ass. This goes for families of kids all holding hands spread across entire aisleways, metro sexual Patrick Batemanesque men that worry excessively that bumping into someone may wrinkle their hollister shirts, but still won't share the space, and fat people in motorized carts that can't trouble themselves with the excercise of moving for fear that their inner thighs will catch fire due to the friction of rubbing human meat.

2. What is up with strollers nowadays? Seriously? What happened to the compact little things that people pushed around when we were kids? Now they are giant brightly colored child buckets that fit either very fat children or very old children. Eitherway, its not pretty.

3. When there is one line and someone opens up a new one and yells "next" they aren't referring to the last person in line who hasn't been waiting at all. If you're that person, I hate to break it to you, but you're an asshole and one of these days one of my tracksuit divas are gonna bust a heal in your ass and then buy a starbucks.

4. It isn't the cashier's fault that Store Blah is out of some fad item. Its yours. You should have put down the ding dongs and gotten your fat ass to the store earlier. I'm sure you have Tivo. What are you waiting for?

5. I'm sorry but its not cute to let your little boy ride a pink bike around the tiny San Rio store at the mall. Its just not. And his screaming when you make him leave... not adorable.

6. Parents: thank you for gracing the public with the presence of your children who have not yet fully recovered from the croup. Their constant hacking and wiping of snot along their arms and spreading to everything they touch will no doubt ensure that everyone will get the plague for Christmas this year.

7. Why? Why do you ladies have to wear stilletos to the mall. I love to feel tall and pretty in my happy, strappy shoes too.... but I watch them struggle against the steps and the crowds and I think to myself: "Why?" You're wearing a tracksuit like you just came back from the gym... why ballroom slippers? WHY? For those of us who need to try to get around you, its really irritating.

8. Bathe. I got stuck in the corner of San Rio today by an enormous woman checking out the pencil supply. I literally couldn't move and was going to wait it out until she called her husband over... Mr. Stinky. The man smelled like taco bell hot sauce.

9. Don't be a douchebag. Just try your best. One of my coworkers actually asked if anyone had ever "regifted" right in front of someone who had just given us all a Christmas gift. I know that he wasn't making any kind of remark as to what he had received, but think before you speak because that is a really arrogant thing to say. It could have been taken so wrong.

10. Try not to kill others. As Christmas gets closer, traffic gets proggressively crazier. People cutting people off speeding above 90, honking at people who go 80, driving over the median, you name it, I have seen it this week. I just think that no one wants 12 steaming brains of family members splattered across I-4 for Christmas. Maybe I'm wrong. Da dunno.

11. For God's Sake. Try not to burn down your house like so many people did at Thanksgiving. I am not trying to be funny, all those horrible turkey fryer stories...I'm just waiting to hear whose lights torch a Christmas tree or how uncle Joe gets stuck and subsequently squeezed to death in a chimney.

12. Keep your cool. How many people are freaking out over some stupid little thing that means nothing and will be forgotten in a month. Really? I can't think of one person in my family that wouldn't pretend to love the basket of panty hose I buy them so do you really think they are going to hate you if you don't slaughter a family of nine to steal their Xbox 360? Not that I am Ms. Calm and level headed... I did call a lady a dumbass to her face today but she deserved it... and we're not talking about ME anyway. Sooooo...........

The Twelve Gripes of Christmas.
For my first gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: a crowd of people all so angry

For my second gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Two mighty shoves and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my third gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my fourth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my fifth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my sixth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my seventh gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my eighth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: 8 tracksuit divas, seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fat heads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my ninth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Nine hoochies prancing, eight tracksuit divas, seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my tenth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: ten cashiers weeping, nine hoochies prancing, eight tracksuit divas, seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my eleventh gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: 11 Visas swiping, ten cashiers weeping, nine hoochies prancing, eight tracksuit divas, seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

For my twelveth gripe of Christmas, Orlando gave to me: Tweleve steaming brains, 11 visas swiping, ten cashiers weeping, nine hoochies prancing, eight tracksuit divas, seven moms a bitching, six times the waiting, FIVE coughing brats! Four name calling jerks, three fatheads, two mighty shoves, and a crowd of people all so angry.

Thank you. Thank you.

America's Funniest Way to Earn Back Some of that Insurance Money

2007-12-14T00:49:00.000-06:00

I don't often have time to just sit and veg out in front of the TV. I probably didn't have time tonight, either, but I did. Just my luck, I can finally sit down and watch something and there's NOTHING on. So after flipping through the channels for a good 20 minutes, I finally settled on something mindless. America's Funniest Home Videos.

GOOD

LORD.

I have been watching this for about a half hour and I realized that the videos people send in basically fall into one of five categories... few of which are actually funny.

1. Humans sustaining serious injury. I fail to see how having a motorcycle land on your head is funny. Call me a prude.

2. Babies. Aren't they funny when they eat! Nothing like watching take after take after take of baby after baby after baby spit out strained peas. I just feel bad for the kids.

3. How stupid must people feel when they think they have come up with THEE most original idea only to find that 35 other people have thought of the exact same thing and they show all of them in a montage. Specifically, I just saw 300 people train their dogs to show their teeth when they say: "smile."

4. dancing mishaps. How many old people's underoos get flashed during a conga line on this show. It boggles the mind.

5. And the final category is human abusing animal. Tonight I watched a man repeatedly smack a squirrel with a pool skimmer, a little kid yank on the tail of a cat that would give it a "look" of annoyance, and a dog being forced to slow dance with a toddler.

It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Crapmas.

2007-12-13T21:20:00.001-06:00

Do you ever wonder why people say that Christmas is the saddest or loneliest time of year? Why, with all the happy little elves singing merry little Christmas songs, its a wonder that so many people chose this time of year to fling themselves off a bridge! Yet Christmas care call centers available for those contemplating the ultimate punishment for failing in Last Years resolutions are available all around the world. Crisis Centers will tell you its their busiest day of the year.

In case you can't tell, I'm feeling a little of the Christmas "ugly" right now. I feel ripped off, lonely, sad, nostalgic, and mostly... self pitiful. Yes, woe is me. As I sit here typing this, I even feel guilty for wanting to torch neighborhood Christmas trees and pull lights from houses and dance a jig on top of them. My only outlet is watching Maya gnaw on the face of an Abominable Snowman Christmas Stocking. But Christmas is done for me. I look forward to going out and picking out gifts for my family and friends. I love trying to find something that is actually meaningful and not just "something." I also love to wrap things myself, make my own bows, color coordinate wrapping paper and all that other Martha Stewartish crap... so why would someone like me suddenly turn into the Grinch?

My reason is simple. I'm done Christmas shopping and wrapping gifts. I'm going to mail my box of stuff home tomorrow... because once again, I won't be there. Its too impossible to go home for the holidays anymore. It costs too much, its hard to get the time off work, and worse yet, I'm sure there is so much going on at home that like it or not, my presence isn't really all that missed. I miss not being at home, though. Its pretty damn lonely doing Christmas by yourself. And yes, I am married, but my husband works 365 days a year... even when he is at home, so really it is by myself. He hates Christmas cookies, so I don't make them. We tried to get a Christmas tree, but the one place that sells them at an affordable price doesn't take Visa (what the hell?) so we have no Christmas tree.

On a side note, I would really like to know why a wad of green pipe cleaners in a metal stand costs over $200. I don't think I'd pay that for a rare breed of Christmas Pine straight from the heart of the rain forest. Anyway....

Mike outright refuses to hang lights or decorations for reasons too long to get into here. He hates giving gifts because he says he can't afford to give people the things he really wants to give them. So he's a regular Jolly soul this time of year. So basically the next time I'll feel any sort of holiday joy is when my family calls on Christmas day. Then we'll hang up and I'll feel lousy the rest of the day-- wondering why the holidays turned into such a bummer... then I'll go rearrange the bookshelf or scrub some dishes.

It just isn't Christmas anymore. Christmas went away. Maybe that happens when you grow up and become an adult... but it sucks. I had the BEST Christmases ever as a kid. I don't think anything could have ever topped the way my parents made Christmas every year. Missing your family on Christmas is just about the worst feeling in the world. Sometimes I wonder if life is a balancing act and I had it SO good for so long that its almost like its my turn to see things from the outside looking in.

So Christmas, I am done with you. I am putting away the stupid Santa on the table and the stupid red sock that Maya is chewing on and I'm looking forward to the end of 2007. Onward to '08.

Christmas Care Hotline: (manned by the good folks at the Salvation Army:)130.036.3622

Joan Osborne-What if God was one of us

2007-12-12T00:34:00.001-06:00

I Lived Under Power Lines.

2007-12-11T00:57:00.001-06:00

Please see music for this song above. I couldn't get them to post this together and this has become too much trouble for something this stupid.

What if Maya was a Platypus?
Just a stinky slobberpus?
Just a duck-billed stinkerpus
Trying to sit and chew her bone.
She just wants to be alone.

Back to My Roots

2007-12-09T21:52:00.000-06:00

Its been awhile since I have had the pure earthly joy of being a retail slave. I forgot how blindly stupid the general population is.
Here is a top ten list of stupid crap that customers come up with in their little mini-pea brains and then actually say out loud.
10. "Excuse me, can you give me a coupon?"
Where are these magic stores that give you a coupon for what you're buying? I don't know how they do it because if we had coupons to just randomly hand out, it would be a blood bath in there.
9. "The price tag says this is $19.99."
Is that a question? Thanks for the recap.
8. If an item doesn't scan: "Ha, ha, ha... it must be free!"
Yes, it must be. No one else has ever thought to say that before. Really. No one.
7. "Do napkins come free with the table cloth?"
Are they packaged in the same bag? Of course they don't. Moron.
6. "Is everything in the store 20% off?"
Wow, where the hell did you hatch that one?
5. "I left my coupon at home, can you give me one of yours?"
You mean the ones growing out of the top of my head? Sure, I'll just pluck one right off for ya.
4. "Are bath towels the same as bath sheets?"
No, notice how they have different names.
3. "Do you have a senior discount?"
No, we sell Linens and things, not pancakes and matinees.
2. "How much is ________"
Well, as I have memorized the exact price of every single, tiny, meaningless little item in the store, I can tell you without hesitation that it is $39.99 and your coupon is at home.
1. "Do you take checks?"
Do we have to? Isn't there some other way you can hold up the line?

Maya Chicken-Bits Buttreeks, this is your life.

2007-12-05T14:32:00.000-06:00

So I understand that if I do have any regular readers at this point they will probably groan "auugghhh, another dog birthday blog?" but frankly, my sister would be very disappointed if I left out the birthday photo montage for our little two year old, Maya.

Ahhh. I remember the first day we told Midas that he would be getting a little sister.

And now, our little Maya turns two today. She's celebrating in true Maya fashion- curled up on a bed with multiple blankets and a chunk of carrot that she refuses to eat, but refuses to let go of. The story of Maya is a nice bed time kind of story with a happy ending. You see, we were living in Florida, and I was working at Harcourt where I spent the majority of my day on the internet. I came across Maya's adorable little picture on a website and emailed it to my husband with a note saying: "aww, look how cute."
To my surprise, Mike wrote me back and said: "That's our baby girl." This is really not like Mike, but he loved her from that one little photo. We didn't even have any intention of getting another pug... but Mike just knew we had to have her. The timing couldn't have been better since Mike had just been on the recieving end of a fifteen car pile up on I-4 and we no longer were a two car family. My mom and dad had generously offered to GIVE us their truck and so we had plans to fly to Michigan to drive it back... which just happened to be where little Maya (formerly known as Munchkin,) was residing.

We started making calls and were very excited to be going to pick her up, but as we arrived, the breeders that were selling her started showing hesitation. They really didn't seem to want to get rid of her telling us that some other people were coming to look at her all of a sudden and telling us that we probably wouldn't be able to drive back with her in the truck.... and some other weird things that I won't get into here. Anyway, push came to shove and we went out there and got her. She fit right in immediately, peeing on mike's leg right off the bat.

Maya was an adorable little wall-eyed puppy. She was the runt of the litter-- infact, she was the litter. The only puppy born from her little mommy. From day one, Maya knew only a life of priveledge. She never had to fight for food and often had it specially prepared. She slept in the bed with the breeder who had fallen in love with her and was sad to let her go. She had all the toys and playtime she could have wanted and didn't even have to set foot out in the cold to use the bathroom. When she left she was given toys, food, and hand-made blankets to accompany her on her trip home. The constant love and attention she received made for an obvious difference in personality over Midas who didn't have it as easy at his birthplace. Midas, terrified of abandonment, has never gotten over his bumpy start in life where Maya has no fear at all,knowing that someone will feed her, someone will protect her, and someone will love her always.

Knowing she has no worldly concerns or worries of any kind, Maya has spent her two years honing her skills and perfecting her true talents. Such talents include power sleeping, finding the ultimate comfort spots, and zeroing in on available laps to occupy.

Here my mom learns that, just because she is on vacation doesn't mean that she won't be a slave to Maya's wants, whims and comforts of all kinds. Here, she has beat out Midas for the ultimate lap spot.

Why just sleep on a king size pillow top bed when you can sleep on a pile of pillows on top of a king size, pillow top, bed.

Here we are packing for the big move to Texas. Midas is somewhere standing around nervously as we pack boxes containing things he may or may not need. Maya helps by lounging on an extra fluffy bed pillow and chewing a bone.

Without missing a beat, Maya is back into her old routine as we unpack here in Texas. Towels used to wrap breakables were tossed into a laundry pile that Maya burrowed into for the ultimate sleep destination. Can you find her?

She truly is the Comfort Queen.

While Maya knows how to live it up and has a life of priveledge, it isn't all glitz and glamour. Maya has seen her share of hard times, too.

Any "bath" indications have Maya headed for the hills with a straightened tail and ears back. If you aren't quick enough after removing her collar, its a two person job to peal her out from under the far corner of the bed.

Sometimes known as the "cutie with da booty," the junk in Maya's trunk has been known to keep her from getting onto the couch where an empty lap surely awaits her. It can be torturous.

People have been known to take advantage of her cuteness.

WAITING for treats is definately not her style.

The Dreaded CONE.

Through it all, though, she is still quite the character. She loves to be a funny girl and make everyone laugh. She also love a good laugh herself.

Mostly, however, its a princess' life for "Pea" and if you need her, she'll be celebrating it up like a true princess on this, her second birthday. Pug kisses to you all from Maya. Our little Smia Pea.
Princess Life:

Soaking up the rays poolside.

Eating LOTS of pizza.

Playing with your big brother

Power Sleeping...

Getting fanned

... And being top dog.
Happy Birthday, Maya!!!

Choppy, Choppy Little Pinky

2007-11-23T17:08:00.000-06:00

It is black Friday. I just found out today that it means this is when the stores gain the profits to keep them in the "black" and out of the "red." I thought it just ment that if you worked retail... today really... REALLY sucks.

Case in point: I found myself numbling driving to work at my new job, contemplating whether I really needed the $12.50 I would likely earn today and it wasn't even 4:30 in the morning. It was supposed to be a grueling eight and a half hours of explaining why the ad that just came out containing a 20% off coupon featured all of the items in which you could not use the coupon with. Fortuntely, the God's smiled on me and someone called in for their evening shift, allowing me to go home at 7:30am with a heartfelt promise that I would return at 5:00 to close. You can't imagine my joy when that person later called and agreed to go in afterall and I got the rest of the day off!

Now I'm back at home and looking forward to a clean house when it happens. I took a nice slice out of my pinky finger with a bread knife. After knowing me for seven years, when Mike hears the words: "Mike, I'm bleeding," he instinctively prepares for a trip to the hospital. After the whole 5 digit kidney stone experience, however, I decided that I was probably better off to just lose the finger.

Once things were back under control Mike finally asked the question that he asks everytime I end up in a situation like this: "Why can't you be more careful?"
I tried to explain to him my tradition of injuries dated back to well before I knew him but he wasn't buying it. Frankly, I knew it was just a matter of time before something happened, now that I have a nice knife set. I figured it would be much worse. I fully anticipated the day that I would somehow manage to get a carving knife wedged into my cornea. This was nothing. Infact, its almost a tradition. The first time I have hacked at important limbs (are there limbs that aren't important?) was all the way back in the second grade when we were making applesauce and we were actually given knives to cut the apples with. Is it just me, or does this spell disaster no matter how you "slice" it with a group of second graders? Anyway, I was the lucky winner that peeled apart a finger and the rest is a blurry haze of hysteria.

I'm pretty sure that this happens because my mom never let me play with enough sharp objects as a kid. I'm still getting used to them. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving.

The Hummer of the Produce Aisle.

2007-11-16T20:10:00.000-06:00

Have you ever experienced a densley packed highway at rush hour, where you creep along and sometimes it just seems like the bigger cars are taking more space than they probably deserve? You fight your way through traffic-- which lets face it, is a bloodsport-- to get to the grocery store and then you fight for a space in the same zipcode as the store you wish to visit. WAIT-- before you click away to some internet porn site because you've heard it all before-- I actually have something new to complain about! Sure the stores are just as crowded and personal space is at an all time low and I too am wondering what happened to the days where I could shut my brain off at the door and mindlessly wander about to find the things I need. There's nothing new there. What is fairly new are the Hum-Vs of shopping carts. Have you ever been trying to manuever through the produce section of the grocery store just to be blind-sided by a soccer mom pushing a cart big enough to hold all of the groceries a family of 6 could want and need AND two kids in a makeshift plastic, colorful vehicle. They now have little shopping dune buggies that can fit a family of 9 and they take up 2/3 of the aisle.

I know some people may be reading this and wondering what the crap I am talking about. Don't worry, I have been searching the vast void of the internet to find a picture-- but while I was looking, I found an article that someone else had written about this very same situation. So, lets take a look at what this mommy has to say and we'll see if we can get to the bottom of the problem here. Hmmm?

A grocery store is a mom's biggest nightmare. I would really like to know who designed the check-out aisles vs. the grocery carts. Some stores offer carts that seat more than one child. Great! You think, untill checkout time....

We are all aware that the evil candy companies strategically place candy at the check out. Right within a child's grasp. But why in the heck do they design carts that are too wide to fit down the check-out aisle? There you are, a screaming 5 month old, tantrum throwing 3 year old, cart full of groceries, and a skinny aisle that is impossible to navigate through.

Okay now. This woman is elated that there are stores out there that feature grocery carts that seat more than one kid... but she's furious that she now can't fit her super cart down the aisles. Exactly how many kids do you expect to stack in there and still be able to manuever through the store? I also think that there is a slight chance that grocery stores place impulse purchase items near the registers that have nothing to do with kids, shopping carts, or housewives. Maybe I just really have no idea, but I have from time to time seen well behaved kids? I mean, if you can train dogs, can't you train kids?

Anyway, the point is that these monster shopping carts are a menace to everyone around. Combine this with the motorized carts for the elderly or just plain overweight individuals and your average consumer doesn't stand a chance.

Below is a picture of a shopping cart cover. No wonder kids today grow up as weak, pathetic, puffballs.

Here's another one. Suck it all in:

This is a SHOPPING CART:

As is this:

and this:

And do you know that some of these monstrositys come with LCD TVs in them?

Now, I am not a parent and therefore have no idea what its really like... but if your kid isn't entertained for every single waking moment of his or her life will they just spontaneously explode or something? What happens when this same kid who can't not grab candy and throw cigarettes all over doesn't want to leave his Cart O' Joy?

And what about seatbelts? How long will we have to wait before housewives get into head on collisions? Do these things need insurance? Hey, I'm just waiting for the first lawsuit. I'm taking bets right now as to whether it comes before or after some disaster with the "roller shoes."

Biggest Loser

2007-11-14T23:52:00.000-06:00

I recently found myself in an uncomfortable second floor office at the local Linen's 'N' Things. I really hope that if I ever find myself there again, its because I have been shoplifting.

As I heard the words: "Here we do it all. We don't have a janitorial staff-- per se... so associates may work on registers, but they may plunge toilets," my attention shifted from the fact that my toenails were still neon orange colored from Halloween, to the fact that I had voluntarily applied for this a job in which I could have the distinct honor of turd wrestling....

Well, I did waste the time out of my day to go to the interview... I felt I may as well swallow the disdain and the cynicism deep into the shallow end of my intestinal track where maybe, before the day is done, one of the associates can plunge it out of a toilet.
As I answered the mundane text book questions they ask you at all jobs that require little to no brain power, yet the patience of a pack mule, I had to force myself to tear my eyes from the wall or floor or ceiling to focus them on the face of my soon-to-be mentor. A mental image of him walking from the bathroom with a newspaper tucked under his arm and me headed in after him in my red LNT apron, wielding a plunger danced in my head.

"Now Jennifer, sell yourself to me. Tell me in your own words why I should hire you."

Brain says:
"Well, sir. You should hire me because I'm just stupid enough to apply for a job where I may get to plunge toilets for minimum wage. I would much prefer to unclog crap from toilets here at Linen's 'N' Things than at Rudy's Barbecue where I would be making three dollars more an hour. But hey, where's the the class in shoveling pork? Aside from my low sense of self-worth, I am skilled at avoiding your customers on the floor by blending in with my surroundings. As a short person, I can duck behind items and weave my way in and out of aisles without being noticed so that I never have to talk to a single person during my whole shift! I am a fast and accurate cashier, though, I would hate to be unavailable should a mountain of feces need tackling in the men's room. I can spell my own name and tie my own shoes and don't let that expensive Bachelor's degree fool you-- I can fold towels in three different styles for showcasing excellence. Finally, though I am clearly going to dread coming to work for you, I will make up little games in my head to pass the time and my 20 hours a week will just fly by. I am also prepared for you to completely abuse my part time status by working me on the worst possible days such as weekends and holidays."

Mouth says:
"Well, sir, I am a fast learner and experienced with your customer base as well as your merchandise. I have been trained to run a register as a cashier as well as a Front End Supervisor who handles the training of the other front end staff, the book work, and the cash deposits. I have worked in receiving and damages as well as on the floor and I am certain that I would adapt quickly to your policies. I have open availability including weekends and holidays, I am well-mannered and punctual, and apparently I'll work for seven dollars an hour.

Oops that last sentence was supposed to go into column A.

So. Get this. They take my name and social security number and tell me that barring any unforeseen criminal background incidents, they would like to start me on Friday.

As I walked to my car, I tried not to bust out into a hip hop dance at the idea of comparing vegetable peelers for old ladies, explaining what the expiration date on the coupons mean, and of course-- plunging shit. But before we can truly celebrate this momentous detour backwards in my life, I get a phone call saying that they would like me to come in for a second interview?

What?

Let me paraphrase this for you.
Seven dollar an hour job... poopy toilets.... Bachelor's degree.

They need to interview me... again? Really? Am I not going to fit in with the 14 year old pregnant girl, the manager whose belly hangs out of her button down shirt and the male cheerleader fluffing the bed linens? Do you have serious doubts as to my ability to up sell blender attachments?
As much as this is a painful moment in my life, I don't feel like I'm too good to work a job like this... I don't feel like it's beneath me... I do feel like I am plenty qualified, Bachelor's degree or not. I'm not taking this job because I can't get a job in my field, I just turned one down... (yes, I turned down a job making several multiples above the $7/hr mark so that I could prove myself to some guy who goes home and watches reruns of the Jeff Foxworthy show.) In fact, I don't even need this job. I have a loving husband who has begged me NOT to work during this time. But I'm in the middle of a certification program that requires all my focus and I just wanted to be doing a little bit, just a small fraction of earning power to bring to the table until it is done. I wasn't excited about it... who would be... but this is ridiculous. I do have enough self-esteem to tell them exactly where to put the plunger.

So, to recap: I am currently the biggest loser. I will plunge for less than a ten spot.

Here's to all of your success and gainful employment.

The Soup Has Eyes

2007-11-14T15:09:00.000-06:00

For me, the dilemma with taking classes has always been that I have to readjust eating schedules. If I'm not confined to one space for several hours at a time, it doesn't really matter... and I know that it seems like I give this way too much thought, but hear me out.

Occasionally, I can get extremely light headed and weak without warning if I have gone for more than four hours without food and my blood sugar gets too low. I'm sure this would send up red flags to any other person, but to me, it really just means that I need to be able to drink a Coke at a moment's notice.

When you're in class for the better part of a day, its not that easy. So I always try to make sure that I eat something before I get there. Never being one to get up early or leave myself any extra seconds, the options for today were to run by McDonald's or Whataburger (I just can't bring myself to go there...) or try to find something near the school that will slap something slightly more healthful on a plate for me.

Today's culinary adventure took me to a little Japanese restaurant and sushi bar. I went there knowing that if there was nothing on the menu that I recognized could be safely eaten before a four hour class, I could always fall back on a nice plate of California rolls and Sashimi. Feeling adventurous, I decided to give the Cham Pong soup a try.

The description was that of a spicy noodle soup. Mmmm.

So imagine my surprise when they placed before me a GIANT bowl (preceded by a variety of appetizers that I tried but had no clue what they were) of tentacles. It was loaded with all kinds of seafood that I have never in my life had the opportunity to try. I'm not sure if I feel bad about that either.

So, I poked around, realizing that I had infact ordered a spicy deep sea treasure trove of food for the brave. With a flick of the chopstick a crayfish popped forward and looked directly at me as if he was ready to challenge me to a game of Texas Hold 'Em. Are you supposed to eat food that still has eyes?
There were tentacles with little suckers on them and even clams.

Long story short... I'm starting to see what all those vegetarians are all about.

Thank you for calling Best Buy.

2007-11-08T22:58:00.001-06:00

Usually all bark and no bite, today I made the big step from thinker of evil thoughts to doer of evil deeds. Mike and I were walking around Best Buy looking at all the TVs. Not that we were going to buy one, but now that he works at Sony and gets a pretty steep discount, we thought we'd take a look and see what was out there. There aren't many nights that Mike is free to go out and do anything, so we were pretty excited to be going anywhere.

As we browsed through all the different sizes and screens and options in the world of television on steroids, there was a phone ringing. It must have rang literally fifty times before Mike turned to me and snapped: "What the hell? Is that your phone? Where is it coming from... why won't someone answer it? Why won't it STOP!!!"

You see, Mike is usually the calm and cool headed one in the relationship. So after ring 20 when visions of beating down the ringing phone with an axe starting running through my head, I just figured it was because I have a bit of a temper and I didn't say anything about it. Seeing that this relentless ringing was driving Mike to his breaking point as well, I felt a lot better, somehow.

By this time we had made our way to the back wall and were just about to wander over to the camera aisle when I passed the little work desk that is clearly for employees only.

Behold the ringing phone.

I glanced quickly left and right and without hesitation picked the phone up and replaced it back onto the receiver.

Ahhhh, no more ringing.

Mike of course, saw what I was doing and escaped the scene of the crime. I figure I did the world a favor. And at least I didn't bash it with an axe.

Midas Turns 3

2007-11-08T01:35:00.000-06:00

In two days my baby boy will be three years old. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday he was a fat, little, puffball whose back end would raise up into the air when he ate out of his little food bowl. It had to have been just yesterday that I would take him to class with me and he would amuse everyone with his carpet humping antics before retreating to his pile of crunchy leaves for a game of tag with himself.

So this Saturday he will turn the big O-3. In people years that makes him old enough to drink! After close to three years of living with us, he probably deserves one. He has been resident to five different homes since becoming a member of our family and what a trooper he's been about it because they were not all so dog friendly.

First, in the Tuscany Apartments of Sarasota, he began his time with us on the third floor of a three bedroom apartment. His vet, worried about his back knees being weak, suggested that we give him lots of excercise. So, he swam several nights a week in our bathtub, followed by a maniacle jaunt through the apartment, soaking everything in sight. He loved to race around the square courtyard and have us chase him until he realized he had outgrown our running abilities and had to be confined to a leash. So much for chasing the turkey vultures. At least in this apartment Midas could always fall back on his favorite hobby. Discovering peanuts. We're still not sure where they came from or how he found them, but he would randomly bring us peanuts when we lived here...

Our next apartment was a one bedroom in Lake Mary. Midas had his own grassy area here where he didn't have to worry about cars or strangers. He could go outside and play or poop or dig holes. Whatever his little heart wanted. We had great walks here. There were lots of great paths to take and he never.... NEVER got tired. By now he wasn't a fat, puffball anymore. He was a muscular, little athlete and he lived for Saturday and Sunday mornings when we would take him to the "dog park." It was a good life here in Lake Mary. This is also where he was living when his little diva sister, Maya, stolled into his life. But he loved her from the start-- letting her out of her safe and secure puppy cage while we were at work, I often came home to them both smiling at me from the top of the stairs. He was always the goody two shoes of the pair, telling Maya that she was going to get in trouble for ripping open that trash bag. He refrained from Maya's trash buffet but stored a chicken wing away in his toy basket for use later. I'll never forget sitting on the couch when Midas came and dropped a chicken wing into my lap.

The next domicile was a three bedroom delight in Maitland, shared with Aunt Lissy. Since this AC challenged hell hole was located on the third floor, going outside was a bit of a hassle, especially given the lack of green grass. So putting our heads together, we brilliantly came up with a wooden plot of balcony grass for the purpose of turning twice and shitting. The dynamic duo of Midas and Maya was formed. They are officially the best of buddies. Maya has learned all sorts of bad habbits from Midas such as barking when someone enters or leaves a room and swatting a little paw at you should you dare eat in front of her.

Same complex, new apartment. On our own again, we had a two bedroom with a view. A view of the parking lot. For the 9 months we lived here, Midas and Maya barked at every single passerby in a 2 mile radius thanks to the sliding glass door that faced a sidewalk and many parked cars. Before we left, Midas met a black pug named Ebony. He is considering getting another sister who looks just like her. The great thing about this place was the circular area of grass behind the pool. It was great for a good run and sometimes when no one was looking he would go for a little swim. But don't tell anyone-- we wouldn't want to upset the trolls that ride around in the golf-carts.

So here we are in Texas now. As I write this, he is sharing a bed and a nap with his beautiful sister Maya-- who snores like a mack truck. Halloween is over and his costume was great. They are now dreaming of their favorite holiday, Turkey day, which lingers right around the corner. In two more days he will turn three... and yet he is still my little puppy.

Life After Halloween

2007-11-02T23:27:00.001-05:00

So Halloween came and went. It was a good year for family... unlike last years gay streaker at the blood and gorefest that was the pinnacle of Halloween celebrations. There were no strange women with armpit hair and I didn't see a single random naked guy. That's okay. We had our spot staked out at Mike's parents house where we roasted marshmallows and had burgers right there in the driveway. We listened to spooky music and awaited the trick-or-treaters...

But what happened to Halloween? Not only were there so few trick-or-treaters that we had more than half our candy left, but the trick or treaters that came were lazy bums for the most part. About half the kids didn't even bother to dress up at all! Parents didn't walk their kids around the block, they drove them from house to house (approximately ten steps) in their cars. No one said trick or treat... or thank you... what the crap?! Have I seriously gotten that old and crusty that this bothers me?

I feel bad for those kids, though. Sure, they went and got free candy from suckers and didn't have to do an ounce of work for it, but when I was a kid, my mom made our costumes and they didn't look like those cheap, crappy store bought ones. They were awesome. Time was spent. Details were added. We spent time each year figuring out just what we wanted to be (except the one year that I just HAD to go as Punky Brewster for a second time.) This wasn't all in my head, either. I look back at pictures of my friends and I at Halloween and we looked damn good. My mom made my sister a cowgirl outfit that was exquisite! AND each year we would go out and WALK from house to house in our neighborhoods with a group of friends and a parent or two. No cars. No wagons unless you were really young. We said "trick or treat" and "thank you." And (incase I wasn't already sounding like an old fart) to top it all off, we did it in freezing cold weather and our parents never complained because we LIVED for Halloween and we loved every minute of it.

Kids now'a'days SUCK.

I don't think I saw one home-made or creative costume this year. I saw about a dozen spider man suits, and kids in jerseys with helmets. Ooooh. Good one. I was really dissappointed.

But... it is what it is. Now that Halloween is past, I guess its time for me to sink back into a gym routine. Not that we had any candy, just that I am at a new gym now. I actually checked out four gyms before deciding on 24 hour fitness. The guy at the counter assured me that despite the fact that they only have a two lane pool-- its never full. We'll just see about that.

I have to say, it is intimidating somehow to go to the new gym. Not to mention, I am not off to the best start. I had a free session with a personal trainer, and I slept through it. Niiiiice. Who does that. Oh, I do.

So I haven't had the guts to actually show my face there yet. As if alarm bells and sirens will go off as soon as I swipe my card. I realllly need to get going. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe. I'm actually more sure that I'm going to get lunch at the Vietnamese place by Mike's work than I am that I'll actually go to the gym. How sad. Its not for lack of wanting to get back into a workout. Its for lack of... common sense and confidence.

In other news, for those keeping track. I got the job at the marketing department in San Marcos. I'm trying to decide whether or not to take it. My reasoning is that if I take this time and concentrate on finishing my webmaster certification, I can get a job making much more money. Not only that but San Marcos is going to be over an hour commute each way until we move out of the duplex and that will not be for awhile. Oh the decisions I must make. Starting with egg rolls or spring rolls at the Vietnamese place tomorrow. Egg rolls orrrrr spring rolls.....

World's Worst Job Interview

2007-10-22T23:05:00.000-05:00

I am a person who gets nervous when I get mail from an address that I don't recognize, yet somehow, the prospect of going on a life-altering job interview doesn't phase me at all. I have never been nervous. I don't worry about them, I just go in there with what I've got, assume its deserving of a high paying salary and then continue on with my day. If I get it, great, if not, oh well. That's always been my amazingly non-Jennyesque attitude on the subject. I'm hoping my experience today doesn't change this---
Being new to Austin, and quite frankly, new to their crazy ass road system, I gave myself an extra half hour to arrive at my interview. How did I end up 40 minutes late? Well, that started a short while after I got on I-35 and realized that exit 250 (State Road 1325) didn't exist. It all went downhill from there. I had to call them twice to tell them I was lost and if it hadn't been for the peppy secretary's "can-do" attitude, I probably would have quit after the thirty minute mark. Needless to say, looking like a grand ol' tard, I made it there 40 minutes late. Naturally everyone assured me that it was no problem and they were so sorry I was lost but I'm pretty sure that deep down they were wondering if I was going to be able to turn on a computer if they hired me.
Visibly shaken by my near two hour Texas excursion, we sat down to begin the actual interview which started with a conversation that pretty much promised that there wasn't the slightest chance in the farthest corner of hell that I would get this job. The lady that interviewed me said: "Well, we've just been so excited to meet you. Denise is one of our favorite gals and she's just certain that you'll be perfect for this position!"

Huh? Who in the crap is Denise?

While I tried to politely say just that, it must have been clear by the look on my face that I had no clue what she was talking about because the lady went on to say:

"Oh... you are Denise Smith's friend, right? You know Denise?"

Me: "Uhhhhh... no. I'm sorry."

Yep, I apologized for not knowing Denise. So from that point on, things continued like any other interview, but I'm pretty sure that Denise's friend is probably the one getting this job. Hopefully she'll show up on time. Best of luck to her. If you need me, I'll be watching daytime television.

The Move Heard 'Round The World

2007-10-12T14:54:00.000-05:00

I thought the hardest part about leaving the 150% humidity of Florida behind would be quitting my job and saying good-bye to my friends. I had no idea that the hardest part of leaving Florida would actually be leaving Florida.
We packed and moved everything ourselves. We sold off our furniture to make this move as light and airy as a bag of Reddenbocker's finest. You can imagine our surprise when we filled our 6x12 trailer to the brim. Jammed with boxes of books and movies for the most part, we filled every square inch of the trailer, the back of the truck, the inside of the truck, and the trunk and backseat of my car with crap all with about three cubic inches to spare. We did a less than half assed job of cleaning the apartment, turned in our keys and prepared to hitch up the trailer....

That's when the clouds rolled in as if watching it on a video in fast forward. Thunder clapped and in seconds we were left DRENCHED trying to back the truck up in perfect sync with the hitch in a space the neither really fit in, as quickly as possible. Some sort of colorful swirling oil was leaking out from somewhere mixing with the rain and making us pray to God that it had nothing to do with either of the vehicles we were stuck dealing with. After a good fifteen minutes of time in which I realized I could cross airline guide person off my list of career possibilities, we finally got it hitched up. It should have been a moment of joy and elation, but this thing did NOT look stable. We determined that the thing must be a few THOUSAND pounds over its weight limit and the front end of it and the back end of the truck were sunk low to the ground. We did a test drive around our apartment complex and I shoved the dogs into the passenger seat and we were on our way-- to rush hour on I-4.

The whole experience was extremely nerve racking. I was soaked and freezing and terrified that Mike wouldn't be safe hauling that thing but we made it to our first stop for gas with minimal problems. I fed the dogs and got caught in another surprise mini flood... convinced I was never going to be dry again.

At this stop Mike told me to go on ahead since he felt like he would be fine, but he couldn't accelerate past 55. This was good news for me because people are much less forgiving of a cavalier crawling along without anything attached to it. So I went on ahead and we agreed to meet up at the next stop for gas.

After what felt like an eternity I was out of Florida, through Alabama and almost to the border of Mississippi when I got a terrible call from Mike.

He had stopped for gas and trying to get out of the parking lot he had bottomed out on a slight incline and the trailer had come off. Of course I said I would come back and get him and when I told him I was on the Alabama/Mississippi border, I was shocked to find out that he hadn't even made it out of Florida yet. He was more than an hour behind me.
To make a longer story short, he was able to get the hitch back on himself (thank GOD it was him because I wouldn't have been able to)and set out on the road again agreeing to meet me at the Mississippi welcome center. I sat there for an hour trying to sleep, but sleep didn't come. The only thing welling up in me was the urge to vomit.....

Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the continuous flow of caffeine. Maybe it was food poisoning. Either way we decided to stay overnight in some dive Mississippi motel where we each took turns being sick until the wee hours of the morning when we decided, after some deliberation, to continue on to our destination. We weren't the only ones who had it bad, either. There was a ten gallon fish tank strapped into my backseat with traumatized fish displaced from their comfortable 55 gallon home to a cramped little box of splashing water and changing temperatures. They went from the car being off while we were hooking up the hitch and steaming condensation oozing from the glass, to a crisp air conditioned vessel right for two panting dogs, fighting for the best spot on the passenger seat pillow. They were now stuck overnight in the boggy, humid temperature and I couldn't even concentrate on the continued change of temperature, the heat of their water, and the volatile situation within when I had to worry about whether the toilet would flush after I got sick so that Mike would have a fresh start for his throwing up.

Ahhh. That will be one for the ol' memory box.

The rest of the trip went pretty smooth. We made it into Houston pretty quickly and I was really excited. According to my maps and my memory, Houston was a measly three hours from our new digs. ha.

It took us six. I don't know why or how, but it was the longest part of the drive. My only sense of solace was calling Mike and screaming obscenities at him. Amazingly enough, though, we made it here, and we're still married.

Neither of us threw up after that.
None of the fish died.
Most of our crap made it okay.
Both cars seem to still be in working condition... though Mike's truck needs to visit a repair shop.
The dogs still like going for rides in the car.

Austin has been great so far. Its beautiful here and there is so much to do! I loved getting to hang out with my friends after so long.

Its good to be home.

Going into the Closet...

2007-09-17T22:22:00.001-05:00

Out behind my apartment there is a little grassy area that I like to take the pugs. Its safe, there are no cars or roads for them to run out to... just grass and fire ants. The way Florida should be.
Well, last week, a nicely dressed man passed us on our way to the grass. I noticed that he looked as though he had just come from the office, but instead of going into an apartment, he unlocked one of the storage closets, and went in.
That's not that strange. Maybe he had to get something, right? Well, I must have stood there with my pugs for a good five minutes (Maya will hold it until she literally explodes, so this is a daily event.) After five minutes and the dogs had accomplished their "goals." We went back inside. The man never came out of the closet.

I didn't really think too much about it. Sure, its weird... but it was out of my mind as soon as it came... much like just about any other piece of information floating between my ears these days.

This evening, as I was going outside with Midas and Maya, I again passed the man I had seen the other day. Today he was wearing work out clothes and carrying a shiny pink bag stuffed with paper... like a gift. The dogs barked... I apologized, he laughed, and we went our separate ways. Sort of. I was standing with them in the grass preparing for the agonizing grass christening ritual, when I saw that once again, he unlocked and entered the storage closet. WHAT THE HELL?

This was truly weird. I wondered for a moment if I was mistaken and it was an apartment. No, that would be impossible, there is nothing on the other side of that wall.... it would literally be the world's smallest efficiency. I wondered if he needed a quiet place to read or something and didn't want to be bothered by... bugs? I really can't come up with anything that doesn't register just a little bit on the freakometer.

All of a sudden, from the opposite direction, a woman was walking back from the gym. You know the type, she feels that wearing anything more than hot pants and a sports bra would be bad for the ozone layer somehow her hair is swept up and curled as if she will be attending the prom... well... with Richard Simmons. Anyway. We didn't say anything to each other. She walked right past me and I could see her go into the same closet. The light was on inside. Then just as quickly the door shut and neither of them came out as long as I was outside.

Mmmm. Steamy Florida storage closet affairs. Fun for all.

Daaaaaannnnnggggg

2007-09-14T19:53:00.001-05:00

Wow, its been a long freaking time since I have written anything. I wish I had a more interesting story, like I was taken hostage by a group of illiterate white rappers and forced to read them bedtime stories... but I wasn't and frankly, that didn't even make much sense.

So basically, for the one person who actually noticed my absense, a thousand thank yous bt the way, I'll try to give the short version of my life in the dark and fill you in on where I've been for... however long I was gone.

First off, 2007 being a trying year on my patience and on my soul, my grandmother had been in the hospital and ultimately ended up getting a pacemaker. To my joy, it has greatly increased her quality of life and things had been slowly getting back to normal for her. As my birthday approached, we decieded to take a trip to Michigan, home of the robin, the petosky stone, and inbred deer hunters... oh, and my family.

I'll recount the whole experience for you all later, including photos of course. In a nutshell, I would like to say that the whole thing was rather uneventful and relaxing, however, my grandfather took his turn at the table in the hospital, undergoing heart surgery.

He has recovered and is doing well so far, which I am thankful for. I am also thankful for the long and comfortable life my family dog, Beezer, had. She passed away this Monday, September 10 and it was certainly like losing a member of the family. She was a great dog and I miss her like crazy.

With all this going on, I still was hoping to stay remotely caught up at work-- a neccesity now that the circus of kidney stone repair bills have been parading through my mailbox. Just when I thought things were always just going to SUCK-- Mike started getting phone calls and several people were interested in hiring him.

Long story short, we are moving to Austin, Texas (yee haw!) the first week of October and I have to get packing.

I promise some laughs coming up real soon.
Thanks for standing by.

More southern fury

2007-08-14T14:09:00.000-05:00

Two of my very close friends are getting married. Heartbroken that I couldn't attend their engagement party, Mike and I tried to find some great gifts for them on their registry. When everything was said an done, I checked the little box at the end of the online purchase form that said: "Ship packages together even if it takes longer." I also filled out a card with a little line that only they would understand.

I checked the package every couple of days to see how the order was progressing and to my dismay, I got an email stating: "Your packages have been shipped separately for your convenience."

Thanks. (Rolls eyes.)

The next blow came when they got the packages (separately of course) and neither had our card on it. This makes me really upset for two reasons. ONE: They then had to be put in the awkward position of asking people who it was from. Recently married myself, that's just not a fun thing to have to do. TWO: What if they didn't know we had sent it? They would have possibly had their feelings hurt thinking that we didn't think of them on their wedding.

I chose to spend my money with the culprit (TARGET!) over other registries they had AND I spent enough of it that I am just going to have to bitch about this. Knowing damn well that me writing a letter wasn't going to do a damn thing but relieve the swirling tornado of bad thoughts ripping through my brain as if it were a trailer park-- I wrote this:

Target floating heads:
I would just like to express my disappointment with your online
ordering system and my regrets that I will not be going to your store
for online purchases in the future.
My order was for around $200 after shipping and I checked a box that
specifically said that I wanted my items shipped together even if
that meant waiting longer.
Then, I received an email stating that for my "convenience" items
were shipped separately for faster shipping. At this point I just rolled
my eyes.
So, then when my items arrived, there was no card with it, putting
the bride and groom in the awkward position of having to ask around
to see who got them the gift and what is even worse, is the fact that
their feelings could have been hurt thinking that we didn't even
think of them when we infact chose to spend our money with you over the
other places they registered.
I am extremely unhappy with how this turned out and as a student just
out of college, spending that amount of money is more than just a drop
in the bucket and I expect my order to be treated more appropriately
and professionally. I will not be using your services in the future.
Thank you,
Jennifer Pavlovich

What's really funny about this, though, is that I'm already pissed off when I get this shit-can auto generated response. Take a read and tell me what's wrong with this picture:

Greetings from Target.com.

Shipping charges are an unavoidable part of using a mail-order
service, but we know that they can seem a nuisance. That's why we're
always working to keep our shipping costs as low as possible.

There are also a few things you can do to keep your shipping charges
down:

-Plan ahead: If you know you're going to need more than one item
from us, order them both at the same time instead of waiting until
you need each one. Shipping things together costs less than shipping
them separately.

-Be patient: If you have a little leeway in your schedule, choose
standard shipping instead of 1-day or 2-day. It takes longer, but it
costs less.

-Bundle up: When checking out, choose the "Group items into as few
shipments as possible" option. Some of your items may arrive a
little later than if you sent them separately, but reducing the
total number of packages is going to save you money.

Thanks for getting in touch with us. I hope you'll visit us again
soon.

Best regards,

Seraj

Target.com Guest Service

Wow. I really liked the third tip. THANKS TARGET.

Another Day with the Guatemalan Kit Car

2007-08-10T08:36:00.000-05:00

You know how people say that groups of girls who work together or live together-- pretty much in close proximity most of the time-- get their periods at the same time? Well, did you know that the same is true for cars? Every time my car needs to go into the shop because its PMSing, Mike's car immediately follows suit and vice versa. Well, naturally, since I'm going on a long road trip next week, I wanted to take my car in for a tune-up to lessen the chance of any unnatural surprises while I'm 40 miles in to an 80 mile stretch of tumbleweeds and nothingness with two dogs and a car full of crap. Sensing this, Mike's brakes gave out. They seriously quit life. No signs, no symptoms, just GONE.

So we're stuck in that awkward position of not having a car. A rental car wasn't really an option because I needed to get the car in earlier than I could actually afford to pay for it since the trip is early next week and if they find anything wrong with it, they need time to actually work on it. With my account in the negative until payday, I couldn't exactly get myself a rental.

Well, thank God for my parents whose generous contribution to my financial mishap enabled me to take the car in AND get a rental. I took it in Thursday stressing very heavily that I needed the car back by no later than Monday morning because I was leaving to go out of town. They assured me that it would be looked at that morning.

So I got the world's ugliest little gas guzzler and was on my way.

Friday. 10:00am. Still no word from the car place.

I had to call the rental people and tell them that I would be keeping their Aveo for longer than anticipated and they weren't too concerned. I wouldn't be either. This car either came straight off an alien space craft or was manufactured by monkeys and little blind children in the deepest jungles of Guatemala. Its a very... very... odd car. Its the kind of car that induces a hearty pirate laugh from the deepest part of your gut-- as Mike did when he came outside to meet me on our way out for the evening. Yes, I took the little gas guzzler for a night out on the town since we had free tickets to a comedy club for us and 20 friends-- which by the way, was excellent. Its the best show I have seen to date and it was free! We saw Brian Bradley and it couldn't have been a better night-- even when the bums started following us down church street....

So anyway. Here we are and I still have the Guatemalan kit car. But at least its payday and all sort of financial emergencies are behind me-- barring any radical car surgery-- but that would be unexpected to say the least.
So if anyone sees a skinny, yet tall white vehicle whizzing down the road at a top speed of 45.... POSSIBLY leaking a trail of gas (where does it go so fast?!) its probably me and the Aveo.

List O' Mania

2007-08-08T20:44:00.000-05:00

I'm trying a new approach to organizing the impending disaster that has become my life and apartment. I was actually really motivated and excited last Friday to clean the trash dump that we've been calling home sweet home... yet that somehow fizzled away... quickly. Hard to imagine that scrubbing toilets and doing laundry would tip the fun scale, I rented Mario Party 8 from blockbuster instead. Now, with only five days until my sister-in-law arrives and we head off for vacation, I am faced with the undeniable fact that I am going to need clean underwear and a clean spot for her to put her bags.
So as I was saying, a new approach. I have made lists. Lists of stuff that needs to be done so I don't stare blankly at the overwhelming tornado of crap that has taken over every room of our two-bedroom stankuary. I also made a list of important things that I need to have taken care of to bring with us on the trip. Naturally, I wrote them in pen so when I got stuck in one of Florida's daily downpours I ended up with a soggy piece of paper that looks like I wiped my nose on it- BUT that's okay because I still know what it says.
There is a list of 14 things on my cleaning agenda and as of 10:00 when the last load of laundry finishes, I will have completed two of them! This sounds laughable, yes, but lets think back to this weekend when I played the Wii like a ten year old for several hour straight.

I'm liking this list thing. Its so simple! I wonder if it can solve my other life's problems. I bet if I made a list, I wouldn't forget to bring important things to the gym with me like makeup or deodorant. *Note: About to go off on a tangent---

The morning gym goers are a different breed than the night owls. I feel like a pregnant, bloated baboon lumbering through the locker room as women of all ages are getting ready for work and looking beautiful and skinny. They have curlers and hair dryers and makeup, perfume, fancy lotions and clothes with colors in HD that haven't seen a washer more than 30 times. I have to say, that is intimidating to me. I would love to be one of those women, but since I can barely make it to the gym in the morning if I do at all, I rush through my laps in the pool, shower, throw on jeans and a t-shirt, minimal make-up, drag a brush through my hair and go off to work in flip-flops. On the one hand, I LOVE that. On the other, I see the night people who are less motivated and more slovenly for the most part and I am one of them. The night people sit around and waste time on the machines chatting with others and talking on the phone. The night people are taking up all the cardio equipment with attatched televisions. The night people don't have the same look about them... they look like me. I bet they even go home and eat cookies.
*** end tangent---

So... what? Oh yeah. Lists. So I wouldn't ever have to run home from the gym in a panic again. I could make a list of what I need to do at each moment of the day:

6:30am: Get out of bed.
6:40am: Seriously. Get out of bed.
7:00-7:30am: Swim laps
7:30-8:00am: Shower and get ready for work. Avoid eye contact with the girls who probably think you are the janitor.
8:30am-6:00pmish: Design books to make kids more smarter.

ETC. ETC.

I wonder if this would somehow set off a mental trigger to motivate me. I have tried planners and account books and all that crap before and I lose interest or just plain lose them in a day or two.
Well, what have I got to lose.

I'll let you know when I cross more chores off my list. Clearly I am currently procrastinating. At least I'm not playing the Wii.

Weekend of a Thousand Shoes

2007-08-07T08:18:00.000-05:00

This is a follow up to a story that never ends. Some of you may remember that I have talked about this before as this phenomena is an absolute mystery to me. I'm talking about single, mate less shoes randomly discarded on public highways. HOW.... DOES..... THAT.... HAPPEN? Now, I thought that was an important question to ask. How does one lose A shoe? Well, I found out this weekend how one loses A shoe and now I think that the most important question may be WHY? I think we're finally getting somewhere.

Basically, Friday evening I was driving home and for once, the traffic was moving rather than sitting, when all of a sudden a large pick-up truck a few cars in front of me and one lane over chucked a black and blue shoe out the window.

It bounced along the road and was ran over twice before it was out of my line of sight.

How... strange.

I made a mental note, that people throw single shoes out of car windows and hey, who am I to judge. I'm sure there was a good reason? I don't know.
My next shoe encounter came Saturday morning. I had just returned from another frustrating workout at the RDV and was going to take the dogs for a well-deserved walk. As we were weaving in and out of the several cul-de-sacs in our apartment complex, I noticed a lonely dress shoe sitting next to a spilled soda at the curb. It was a nice shoe. The kind a man would wear to a wedding with a tux. There it was, sitting in a pile of caramelized Pepsi.... all alone. What did this shoe do that would have caused it to be abandoned? I just don't know. Was it the shoe's fault that the Pepsi spilled? DAMN YOU SHOE! ROT HERE FOR ALL ETERNITY WHILE I TAKE YOUR MATE AND GO HOME. People are damn weird.

Sunday rolls around. The final day of the weekend, the day that you are already mourning the loss of your freedom as Monday looms just around the corner. This is my final shoe experience. Coming home from a small grocery trip with Mike I saw something spring from the pavement, oh so slightly, as it was ran over by a minivan....
"ANOTHER SHOE!" I yelled. Mike insists that the shoe had been there for quite some time, but I am fairly convinced that I saw someone throw it out the window.... I think.... maybe?

What do people have against their shoes? Do I need to start some sort of non-profit organization. Seriously. What the hell.

Back by Popular Demand, how to do death right.

2007-07-31T21:15:00.000-05:00

Because my last post was so popular (or because only one person read and commented on it and I'm going insane, you decide) I have teamed up with my beloved husband to come up with what I deem to be the most distinguished names possible for our future Cemetery Woodlands. Below you will find our preferred list for the Cemetery owning enteprise. We will also provide you with a "mix and match" feature so you can name your very own squalid death farm!

Curdle Clearing
Stiff Pastures
Cold Meat Courtyard
Dead Body Meadows
Cadaver Orchards
Disintegration Park
Eroding Acres
Shrivel Bed
Carcass Corral
Putrid Park
Remains Ranch
Dirt Nap
Eternal Hibernation
Fester Fields
Permanent Slumber Pastures
Endless Beddy-Bye
40 Winks Falls
Unending Orchards
Long-Term Siesta Ranch
Oblivion Orchards
Everlasting Snooze Lot
Rotting Ranch

NOW YOU TRY! Mix and match words from at least two sections and you got yerself a winner!

Lawn________________Corpse_______________Soil
Backyard_____________Body________________Dirt
Garden_____________Dead Body_____________Dust
Grass________________Bones_______________Earth
Grassland___________Cadaver_____________Mire
Grass Plot__________Carcass
Green_______________Cold Meat
Park________________Loved One
Plot_________________Remains
Terrace_______________Stiff
Yard________________Deceased______________Long
Courtyard_____________Shell_______________Lengthy
Patio________________Skeleton_____________Drawn Out
Play-Area_________________________________Imminent
Enclosure_________________________________Constant
Acerage___________________________________Continual
Acerage___________________________________Endless
Arboretum___________Breakdown_____________Eternal
Estate_______________Crumble______________Forever
Field_________________Decay_______________Everlasting
Grange____________ Disintegrate___________Long Term
Orchard______________Dissolve_____________Permanent
Grassland_____________Fester______________Perpetual
Meadow______________Moulder_______________Persisting
Pasture_______________Putrid______________Unceasing
Patch_________________Spoil_______________Unending
Plantation____________Taint
Ranch________________Decompose
Soil________________Deteriorate
Common________________Erode
Turf___________________Rot________________Beddy-Bye
Lot_________________Granulate_____________Coma
Woodlands___________Shrivel_______________Cat Nap
Village Greens______Waste Away____________Commons
Square_______________Curdle_______________Hibernation
Area_________________Parish_______________40 Winks
Lawn Social_______________________________Lethargy
Clearing__________________________________Rest
Corral____________________________________Sleep
Land______________________________________Sandman
Ground____________________________________Shut Eye
Falls_____________________________________Siesta
Bed_______________________________________Slumber
Oasis_____________________________________Snooze
__________________________________________Dream
__________________________________________Relax
__________________________________________Oblivion

Casket Caverns

2007-07-30T19:32:00.000-05:00

How does one come to own a cemetery? What would make you decide to bury people on your land? Sure, its probably good money, but Ehhhh. I was thinking about the logistics of cemeteries this weekend as I passed two of them on my way to, where else, the dog park. The first was called Oak Lawn Cemetery and the second Long Rest Cemetery. Seriously? Do you really want to give your death yard a kitchy name? Is that really in good taste? Florida is notorious for weird crap like that. I used to walk Midas on the outskirts of a cemetery that practically shared a plot line with my apartment complex and we always had to walk past the "baby garden," which, I'm sorry, is grotesque. Would it really kill these people to name the place like: "Willow Point" or something lame and generic? Hell, give it your last name. Ferguson's Cemetery. You really don't need a Baby Garden or a Midgit Schmorgasboard either. I'm pretty sure they could be buried with their family like the rest of us... may be. I know that when I die, I'm not particularly hoping for my very own plot in the Short, Fat, and Cranky Arboritum.

Leave it to Florida. Its like Adam Sandler's on-air game of Florida or Germany. If I end up being stuck here for all eternity maybe I'll acquire some land and start up my own cemetery called "Dirt Nap."

I Could Never be a Helper Monkey.

2007-07-26T15:08:00.000-05:00

I almost went into journalism. My life's dream of being a writer, of striving to get into Michigan State University to be the next big thing in journalism evaporated one freezing morning at the Comm Arts building on the north end of MSU's massive campus. The temperature had to have been in the negatives, but I was officially sweating as I shared very personal elbow space with the students on either side of me. It was standing room only in this stadium seating style classroom where a 695 year old man had just taken his place at the podium. He began a lecture detailing his career in the profession and sharing with us bits of pre-emphysema phlegm and I knew right then and there that I didn't want this.
Now, I find myself comfortably at a job that I really enjoy, but do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had taken another path in life. Since growing up has taught me one thing, uncertainty, I find it is important to examine your career path and your goals occasionally. What would become of me if I couldn't be a graphic designer?
The following is a compilation of some suitable replacement careers and their not so suitable counterparts.

I could be a:
•Surgeon. I'm not sure why, but poking around in guts wouldn't phase me in the least. I could probably have the nerve to sew up a colon but get me near a cockroach and its all over.
•Farmer. I have a wonderful zit farm going on right now on my face. A brand new crop of mysterious acne has developed on my face and it seems to be in full bloom. •Race Car Driver. Not much explanation is really needed here. Lets just say I'd be more at home with people who don't feel like going slow is an option.
•Nutritionist. I love to read articles and learn about the needs of the human body and comparing the trends of dieting and exercising... whether its about carbs, fats, calories, I find it all very interesting. Would I be required to practice what I preach?
•Owner of a kennel. I love dogs, but I could never be a vet. I could never work too closely with victimized dogs because my soul would die. I couldn't be a foster person because I wouldn't be able to give the dogs up. I could own a kennel, I think.
•Art historian. I would love to know what kind of junk I'm looking at when I hit a garage sale without having to take it to the Antiques Roadshow.

And... Not so Much....
•Cook. Chef Boyardee hangs his head in shame every time I enter a kitchen. While my food has definitely become more edible, I must dirty every dish and utensil I own in order to make the simplest of meals.
•Olympian. Ha. Pass the french fries, please.
•Janitor. You puke- I puke. I am for DAMN serious.
•Teacher. I think a lot of people go through a phase where they think it might be fun to be a teacher... however, I realized long ago that I just don't have the patience. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST UNDERSTAND!" usually isn't a teacher's motto...
•A nanny. I believe in spanking. And yelling. And manners. Since most people don't, that might present a problem...
•A Party Planner. What do you mean a game of Uno isn't exciting?
•A Sandwich Artist. I smell ham... I die a little.

And of course, I couldn't be a journalist. Spending the best years of my life writing about Paris Hilton's jail-time epiphanies would kill me.
So back to designing children's books.

Rats in a Furniture Store.

2007-07-23T19:19:00.001-05:00

Our barren living room is a constant reminder that we want to move. We sold our couches in December and bought two excercise balls to sit on, thinking that if we absolutely had to sit in the living room and watch TV, we'd do some sit-ups too. HAHAHA. Ahhhhh. Anyway. All the gifts we got from our wedding are still packed up in boxes and every couple of weeks we pack away more stuff... all with the hope that one of those fabled jobs will land in our lap and we can get out of Mickey's PeeWee'esque playhouse. Wanting to make a move as quickly and painlessly as possible, we plan to sell pretty much anything and everything we can to get out of here. That said, I occassionally enjoy a trip through the furniture store where I can make a mental escape for a few minutes to owning an actual house and trying to imagine how I would decorate it.
Saturday night we were making a quick stop at Starbucks... an odd choice, because we NEVER go there. On the way in, we stopped at American Signature furniture where we made it exactly half-way around the store before being approached by a friendly gentleman asking several questions about our reason for visiting. We made small talk and answered his questions fairly pointedly, not trying to loop ourselves into any long-winded sales pitch-- but loop we did.
Somehow we were swept up in a whirlpool of couch and bedframe comparisons, mattress demonstrations, wood grain analyzing, and comfort assesments... before I knew it, an hour had passed... the store was closed and this man still wouldn't let us leave. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He wanted to run our credit, set up accounts, hold items, get ten percent down. We didn't even know what we were buying! I've never felt more cornered... like a rat... a rat with no furniture and no cheese to spend on it.

In the end, it took a combined effort of desperate "no's" and "we really, really were just looking... we can't do this right nows" to get us out of the store with a business card and none to happy salesman.

Both of us quite shook up, we continued to our orignal destination, Starbucks where Mike promptly dropped a tall carmel latte on the floor. Now that's what I call a Saturday.

Baseball, Hotdogs, Applegate and Chevrolet

2007-07-19T21:01:00.000-05:00

I have a new favorite summer past-time. Out with the old: baseball, hotdogs, apple pie, fireworks, and pool parties (and that really awful commercial that used to play on the radio in Fenton: see title.)
My new favorite past-time is sharing an ear of corn on the cob with two wiley pugs. There is nothing funnier than watching them gum away at this intriguing vegetable with all the vigilance of a soldier attacking... an... ear of corn. They are like two toothless old men, squishing and mashing their little contorted faces into the very core- slurping up as many kernels as possible and making the most unattractive sounds ever to grace the human ear drum.
It's hands down the funniest thing I have ever seen and they're corn cob pros, I tell ya what. These two would be at home at any summer barbeque so guard your grill. Haha, get it? God, I am hillarious.

Have I ever been this mad before?

2007-07-17T17:08:00.000-05:00

This is a letter to my gym. Well, before Mike makes me edit it. Personally, I want whoever reads it to cry like a baby:

I am waiting for two things to happen.
I am waiting for someone to have the genius idea of devoting one of your three pools to the free-thinking modern mommy awaiting the chance to give underwater birth and then I am waiting for you to change your name to the "RDV Family Funplace." That's pretty much all your missing, isn't it? Popping the kids out right there in the pool? I am intelligent enough to know that this letter won't make the slightest bit of difference and that's why I'm not even going to bother signing my name. I could care less if some middle-aged lady named Nancy talks calmly and reassuringly at me saying things like: "of course" and "we understand." The point of this letter is to let you know that eventually you will lose a demographic.
When I first got a membership to this gym, I was so thrilled. I had just moved to Orlando after graduating college and couldn't believe how amazing the RDV was. Over the last year, your "gym" has turned into a ridiculous clusterfuck of pointless crap. I think the main reason for purchasing a membership to your "gym" is to work out? I see that it is a health club and the little salon and sport shop and doctor office and ice skating rink and dairy farm is cute and all... but I am paying money to go to a GYM. Over the last several months, on many occassion I have had ZERO access to the machines that I want because there are people everywhere-- like ants on a sticky bun. I can't get on the machines I want. I can't swim laps in your pool because they are all taken. The locker rooms are infested with screaming children running around naked. Its DISGUSTING!!!!!!!!! This is the WORST gym I have EVER been to. Just because its covered with glitter doesn't mean it isn't a turd.
I'd like to give you a few examples to hang on your wall and laugh at. Maybe it will have the added benefit of backing up my point.
As I mentioned before, screaming naked kids in the locker room. Since you love to waste money (lasik eyecare? Come on.) why don't you get one of those "mommy and me" changing areas. PLEASE. I know this might sound hard to believe, but someone elses kid playing peek-a-boo with me while I'm trying to put on a bra isn't my personal idea of cute. Kids. God, they are crawling all over the place at RDV. On one of the days when I couldn't get to the machines that I wanted, I wandered over to do some cardio and couldn't help but notice a gaggle of 12-13 year olds in dresses and flip flops tying up 4 machines. They don't even want to work out, they want to hang out. Give me a break. Some of us are paying a lot of money to afford the luxury of using your facility and would like the chance to ACTUALLY use it.The women's locker room is full of little boys who are old enough to dress themselves in the mens locker room. Swimming laps on the weekends is great because you have to listen to their screaming pool parties. While its hillarious watching all these loser moms strut around in bikins at the gym, their screaming kids are really irritating.
This morning when I went into the gym, there were no lap lanes to swim in. Disappointed, I figured I would try again this evening. Still no laps. Every machine I had planned to use was in use. I packed up my stuff and went home. Money down the drain. 0/2 on the workouts today. Why do I bother? Did you oversell your memberships or something? Is your Lasik center just really busy so people are killing time out on the floor? I just can't figure out why this once wonderful gym has turned into the bane of my existence. At least I know I'm not alone as this has become a topic of discussion among mine and my husband's friends as well.
You guys will bend over backwards for mommys that want to have 85 half-naked kids prancing around, but when I brought up the fact that I never got a chance to get one of those intelligent keys when I began my membership- I was told I was SOL and should have paid more attention. There's that family friendly attitude!
Basically, I hate your gym. I will not be renewing my membership.Neither will my husband.
Neither will our friends.
Anyone I know looking for a new gym will find one as far away from you as possible.
I'm planning to have 39 kids. None of them will go to your gym.
Thanks for the memories. Hoping your higher ups get jock itch,
J

30 Laps and an Epiphany

2007-07-16T19:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not about to qualify for the Olympics in swimming by any means, but each time I go out there I can tell I am getting faster (*I almost typed "fatter" just then... what do you think that means?) and I have recently increased my previous 24 laps to an even 30 in the same time span, which I think is pretty damn good. For me, the best way to make it through long and intense cardio of any kind is to occupy the far corners of my brain with something other than boredom, discomfort, or exhaustion and I happened to let my mind wander to myspace. What a thing, this myspace. If only I had it when I was a kid, I would have been able to keep in touch with so many people that I have loved and lost over the years in moves and changing schools. I thought about how lucky kids are now'a'days to have such a thing. As I was contemplating why anyone wouldn't value a tool that helped connect you to people that are or were important in your life, or friends and relatives far away, I realized that, infact, I was the lucky one. Thank God that myspace and email weren't around when I was younger. What if it had been? Thanks to myspace, I have been able to get in touch with a friend that I haven't seen in years and despite the fact that we no longer live close by, we are now able to visit each other and share our life stories like we used to and neither of us have really changed. We are still pretty much the same people and still great friends. I wonder if we had myspace all along, would the friendship have faded away as the novelty of keeping in touch is devoured by the melodrama of everyday life as a teenager? I think that making the reconnection later in life has been much more valuable- good friends- true friends- are harder to come by. Personally, I appreciate it more and I can tell the difference more readily.
And what about those people that used to mean so much to you? On more than a few occassions I have reconnected with someone on myspace only to find out that they have grown up to be nothing like the person I once knew... or even worse, not only have they changed... but they've chosen some interesting paths to take as well. To each his own, I suppose, but the point is, it ruins the fairy tale. It changes the memory and there isn't anything more precious than that. What do we have if we lose those?
I'm sorry I opened some of those old doors. Thankfully, it was all worth it for just that one friend who gets me better than anyone else... but the truth is that for the most part- you can't go back home.
Fortunately, after swimming laps, the ol' treadmill has a tv and I have my MP3 player so the thinking can come to an end, giving way to sweating, zoning, and drooling. Look what happens when I have too much time on my hands.

The blurred line.

2007-07-10T21:18:00.000-05:00

I have managed to set my alarm for the last week and a half to go off at 6:30 and then again at 7:00. I moved it across the room so I had to get up, bend over, pick it up, and mash at it with my hands to shut it off.

I'm awake at this point, yes?

No.

Anyway, so I haven't gotten up once and have had to go to the gym at night. Except Sunday I didn't go. We were really busy all day and I'm pretty sure I got in some moderate excercise anyway. Monday I didn't go because I had missed a dose of some medicine and wasn't feeling good. TODAY. Today I was feeling it. I was ready to go. Visualizing all the calories I would burn, tomorrows BL weigh in didn't seem like a big deal. Except my eye had been bugging me all day and I wanted to take care of that before heading out.

Well, when I opened my eye really wide to look in the mirror, my contact freaking disintegrated. One half fell right out of my eye and the other half curled out and stuck to my eyelash. Can you tell me how in the HELL that happens?

OH WAIT. Now it all makes sense. You see, As of August first, I am covered 100% through my work benefits for vision care and I can't get new contacts until I have my yearly eye exam. So I had to kind of stretch out this last pair of contacts that I had a few extra days. Somewhere evil little elves are laughing at me. So I have an appointment on Saturday to get new ones and have my exam and I'll pay for it and its no big deal. Its just the point that I'm SO close to saving some money. But NOOOOOO. Also, I can't possibly work out this week with glasses. I am blind as a bat and I couldn't swim without them. I would get so seasick. I can't really do the treadmill either because when I get hot and start sweating, they steam up and on top of not being able to see, I look like a baked ass.

I am becoming more a fan of the laser surgery option by day. Lets take a little quiz, shall we?

Which of the following has happened to me since I began wearing contacts in the year 1998:
A. While laughing hysterically at a joke made by one, Jennifer Schillenger, I rounded off our evening of tall cakes and laughs at Ruby Tuesday with the cinema crew by somehow stabbing myself in the cornea with a drinking straw.
B. You know how when you're coming to the end of your deodorant stick, the remaining little cake of anti stink sometimes falls off if you twist too far? Well, it fell onto the dresser and I picked it up and threw it out. Somehow a microscopic piece remained in my open contact case and proceeded to deodorize my eyeball- a burning sensation like you will never know.
C. While putting in the first contact of the morning, it fell to the ground and was never located. I broke out a new set only to discover that evening as I was removing my shoes after work, that it had cemented itself to my sock and was dry and crunchy inside my shoe, still clinging lifelessly to the sock.
D. All of the above. All of the freaking above.

The answer is D. Did you seriously not see that coming?

Embracing Adulthood with poop.

2007-07-09T11:19:00.000-05:00

Who doesn't complain about feeling fat from time to time? Weight loss has become a topic of interest since I've gotten older. Its everywhere. People share articles and recipes and make resolutions together, but there has been a recent development that cracks me up. Most of you have probably heard of the drug Xenical, and its now OTC counterpart, Alli. If you've heard anything about this new diet phenom, its probably about the unpleasant side effects causing you to have greasy, oily farts and less than solid fecal anomolies. (I think now is a good time to point out that no one discusses poop enough in blogs.) Anyway, now that this drug is officially on the market you can read about it online and even meet people who are taking it and all of the sudden, your adult conversation turns candidly to that of poop.
Personally, I think that Alli is a good idea. If you're going to eat too much fat, this thing is your worst enemey. Its like Pavlov and his bell, you must condition yourself to eat correctly, and if the response to a gorge fest is shitting your pants in a board meeting... well I would think you would learn your lesson a lot faster than waking up one morning and realizing your pants are too tight. So even though it isn't your typical diet pill and won't really do anything if you're eating right, at least you know when you're slipping up and learning quickly not to do it again.
Most importantly perhaps is the joy of discussing poop again at the office. Ahhh, to be young.

People Watching. Its a Sport.

2007-06-30T11:45:00.000-05:00

So I have had the chance to view some interesting personalities lately. Meh, lets not beat around the bush here, I'm going to make fun of them. So if you're reading this and its you're great aunt Gert or something, sorry.

Scenario A: Have you ever seen those mini-vans or SUVs with the little stickers on the back? They say the kids name and have a little graphic for their sport. Maybe its a Florida thing. For example, there will be one of those cheerleading bullhorn graphics and the name Amber. Well, I was going to pick up a perscription and pulled up next to an enormous utlity vehicle that boasted said stickers proudly on the back. One for each of the three kids.
Shannon had a ballerina silohuette. Evan had gymnastics.... O-kay. Let's face it. Evan's going to be a fashion designer when he grows up. Last but not least, Jackson had some sticker that had a horse on it and I wasn't really sure what it was. Turns out, Jackson is into polo! Polo?! What kid plays polo?! What family has ballerinas, gymnasts and polo--...ists. It just seems like too much joy for one household. Can you imagine the conversations around the dinner table?

Scenario B: Pet lovers? I love my dogs-- probably more than the average person loves their pet. I have pictures of them littered all over my website. They are endlessly spoiled and as far as I am concerned, well deserving! I got up early today and dragged my husband along for a trip to Pawmosa Park where they were having a "pug meetup." It was really boring. A bunch of middle aged people akwardly standing about while their pugs played with other roly poly pugs. So do I spoil my dogs? Yes. Today however, I saw the most disgusting people on earth. They rolled up to this pug meetup in their convertible... dropped the top and then the show began. The man of the outfit got out of the car with slicked hair and sunglasses. He was wearing long dress pants and a polo and even dress shoes (um, dog park? Hello?) and was proceeding to pull a nauseatingly pink stroller out of the back of the car. But it was no regular stroller. It was for the dog!... Who was also dressed to the nines by the way. They put together the stroller/cart and placed the pug carefully into the bed and unzipped his window. They wheeled their dog the whole two feet from the car to the gate. I'm serious. They put together a pink doggie carriage to wheel their dog TWO FEET. But the gut renching doesn't stop there. As they entered the park they were each carrying large sports bottles as if they were going to jog, but you already know what the gentleman was wearing...
... his lady friend? She was wearing a black wash cloth that appeared to have been washed thousands of times stretched across her enormous stumpy, cottage cheese legs. It was uncomfortably short... as in I'm going to have nightmares tonight. It was really gross.
I think the dog was the most likeable character in the family...

Cheese Pants.

2007-06-25T10:15:00.000-05:00

It must be a Monday because here I am at my desk smelling like a big hunk of Gouda. What other day of the week would suck as much as a Monday? Well. I got in from swimming last night and threw my wet towel on the back of a chair, because it would have been so hard for me to actually go and put it in the laundry. Anyway, on this chair was my work clothes for today.
When I got in the car is when I noticed the foul, moldy cheese stench. You don't notice it when you're standing because your nose isn't as close to your femur.
So the whole ride to work, I was gagging over the nasty cheese smell. So far the whole day at work the cheese smell is even worse. Its only 11am.
I finally confided to a co-worker that I was nauseated because I smell like a Gorgonzola. So she found some perfume and I sprayed it all over my legs.
It didn't get rid of the moldy dairy, but it added to the stink on a whole new level.

Matters of the Heart

2007-06-22T13:35:00.000-05:00

I go through periods of time where I cling desperately to anything from the past. Friends lost, places, sounds, smells that are no longer a part of my life. I always attributed this smallish compulsion that sprang up occassionaly, to the amount of times I moved as a kid. It feels like I have lived several small lives. Lately, I have been thinking about times spent with my grandparents. My grandma used to take care of my sister and I during summers and sometimes I feel like I took those times for granted. I know I did as I was a teenager and I hated when they would come to stay with us while my parents were house hunting in other states. I would challenge everything they said or did and I can't imagine how they put up with me.
This past November when I was home, my grandpa was excited to take us to the casino. He had been looking forward to it for almost a year and we were finally all there. We hadn't been there for too long when he collapsed.
He's fine now, but that was a real turning point for me. Aside from the heartbreak of going home in yearly intervals and seeing people you love get older in fast forward, this was a real sign that the life I always knew and the things I always expect are coming to an end and things are going away. Morbid as it sounds, I probably don't have too long left with my grandparents and I simply can't imagine not seeing them at holidays... not ever going to grandma's house. I can't explain what a loss it would be to lose one of them.
Such is life, though. I have been trying to come to terms with the fact that my grandfather may not have too much longer with us. I have made every effort to come home and see him when I can... not an easy feat when the airlines are in the wallet raping business... I know I'll never be prepared if something happens, but I was really caught off guard when I found out that my grandma was hospitalized this week with a yet to be determined condition.
It struck me that it wasn't until the past few years that I have really, REALLY been thankful for my family- for who they were and what I am to them. Wiser with age, I suppose. Its just a shame that I was so ignorant as a kid that it never occured to me to value the people I love as they should be. As a kid you never imagine that you won't see them whenever you want. It makes me feel so old... when did I get old?
As I write this, my grandma is having a test done on her heart so your prayers for her safe return to health would be greatly appreciated.
I hope to lift the somber tone of these latest entries, hopefully this weekend will bring back some laughs.

W.W.R.D.

2007-06-21T12:30:00.000-05:00

What Would Ronald Do? THAT is the question of the hour. What would Ronald McDonald do if I actually remembered to pack myself a healthy lunch. I think the entire operation would pretty much shut down.
They just hired someone new at work and as I was coming back from my McDonald's run with my Doublechinburger, I noticed him out walking on the path that I had diligently done for all of three days. He had headphones on. Now there's an idea. Yet another wave of guilt washed over me for my terrible eating habbits. I had forgotten my cereal and granola bar today so I replaced it with an extra 500 calories of grease and crap. This whole week, I haven't really cared, to be honest. I am slowly coming out of my life-hating slump, though, so maybe there is hope for me yet.
I have something to look forward to, as I am hoping to drive home to Michigan with my husband and two dogs for my birthday. I also have next Wednesday to dread and love at the same time. Its the weigh in. You see, people where I work are pretty health concious. Its really nice. It seems a lot of people have had success playing "biggest loser" here at Element, so I am going to give it a try this next go around. You can win money, however, I'm thinking for me, the motivation will be saving "face" in front of my co-workers. At least, I hope. When I signed up, I thought that I would put my nose to the grindstone and try to lose as much weight as possible before next week but I haven't at all. I'm pretty much facing the facts that someone at work is going to see what I won't even let my husband see-- the ominous numbers on the scale.

Despite all this, I think that my biggest problem in life has to be that I can NOT get up in the morning. I am completely and totally a night person. If my bedroom was on fire I'm almost certain that I would roll over and try to face away from the flames-- but that's about as far as I would go. Imagine, if I could seriously GET UP at 6:00/6:30am, I could get in some exercise in the morning, eliminating the trouble of not making it to the gym at night if I am in a state of sheer exhaustion. Having worked out in the morning, I would at least have something to fall back on. Hell, if I didn't feel like going to the gym, I could take the dogs for a walk, even. At the very minimum, it would help me spend more time on myself before work so I don't go in looking like three shades of haggard death, like I do most days.

That said, I found this article about an alarm clock that shoots off this little piece of propelled plastic. You have to catch it and replace it on the base to shut off the alarm. As soon as that happened the dogs would go crazy. I'm pretty sure that I would be awake at that point. My husband is all for it. Who wants to take bets on how fast I would find alternate ways of shutting it off (unplugging, breaking, sleeping through....)